To Make A Thief
by Livestrong0009
Summary: Melara is a mage, a recent run-away, and an emotional mess. Finding that her emotions fuel her magic, she struggles to find her place in Skyrim. Arriving at Riften, she struggles to hide who (and what) she is, but when she's approached for work by the second-in-command of the Thieves Guild, it becomes a struggle. Will Melara find herself a thief as well as a mage?
1. Chapter 1

It's day three since I ran away. I wonder what mother's doing. I wonder how she is. Terrified, I bet. Maybe she went to find the guards. Maybe they're coming after me. It doesn't matter. I can't let myself go there again. Not after I've run so far away. Not after I've tried so hard to forget. Not after everything that I've done.

I remember father talking to Killarna, the farmer's wife, that Riften was only a three-day walk away from Ivarstead. Hopefully it won't be too much longer. I'm getting tired of going after rabbits and goats for my dinner. I'd go for a wheel of cheese about now. And a nice tall glass of spiced wine. Anything is better than charred goat haunches.

An hour passes. Or is it two? I really can't tell. I never learned how to tell time by the sun like mother and father did. I know the time by my stomach, and the way it's growling I'd say it's about midday. Time for lunch. I stop for a moment, close my eyes and listen. The wind blows gently by me. There's water flowing to the east, I can hear. I feel the sun beating down on my face. Then, the grass rustles just out of reach. I crouch immediately, ready for whatever it is. I narrow my eyes and peer out, spotting a pack of wolves sneaking before me. They are ready to strike. There are four of them.

They spring from the bushes and encircle my position. I draw my hands up, calling forth warmth from the sun into my body. Fire crackles into my hands and I blast back the first of the four wolves, sending it flying a few yards away. The second snaps at me, growling from behind. I whip my body around, calling down lightning from the sky and sending a shockwave through its body, stunning it long enough for me to pull the knife from my robe and send it right into the wolf's heart. It whines once, twice, then its eyes roll back and it stills.

The third lunges at me, knocking me onto my back. I pull my hands up and hold it by the throat. It snaps at me, barking and growling in my face. I feel its spittle splashing onto my skin and I wrap my hands around its muzzle, squeezing until I hear a crack. I've broken its jaw. I call on the power of the sun once again, and fire erupts from my hands, charring the wolf before me. He falls limp as I stand, my hands crackling with Destruction magic. The fourth wolf looks at me, then at his fallen companions and whimpers, taking off into the distance.

I skin my kills and pack their hides into my knapsack. Perhaps I'll be able to sell them in Riften. As I look upon their corpses, my skin crawls. That so much death could come from me disgusts me. How in the world did I fall so far? In only two days, I've become some kind of monster. I'd always kept my magic a secret. The only ones who knew were mother and father, and they kept it secret as well. They were ashamed of it, as am I. But now that I've left, I have no chance of survival without utilizing my power. I have no other choice than to kill.

As the day goes on, I continue my journey. There are no other mishaps, confrontations, or killings as I make my way to the gates of Riften. Outside the city, the Riften stables are bustling with noise and whinnying from the horses within. I nod politely to the stable master and he smiles in return. I duck my face into my hood, avoiding eye contact with any more people. I'm unpredictable in uncomfortable situations, I've learned. Better safe than sorry. As I near the gates, one of the guards stops me.

"Hold, mage. If you want to enter the city, you'll have to pay the visitor's fee." He's got a thick Nord accent.

I raise an eyebrow at him. "What's the fee for?"

"For entering the city and exploring its wonders. If you can't pay, you can't enter."

I shake my head at him. "This is obviously a scam. I'm not paying to enter a city," I spit, pushing past him.

He reaches out and grasps my hand, stopping me. In a moment of anger, I allow the power of the sun to course through me, singing his skin. I eye him dangerously from the side and he backs off a bit, allowing me to pass. I pull my hood over my face, and push through the gates into Riften.

At first glance, the city is disappointing. I was expecting hustle and bustle, a lot of people and shopkeepers lining the streets. A crowd to get lost in. But this…this is nothing like I expected. It's a steely grey color, and there's a thick stench of despair in the air. Nobody is on the streets. There are a few guards speckled around the buildings, but I see no villagers. I wander deeper in, careful to keep my face away from any unwelcome gazes.

As I pass a building on the left, someone catches my arm and draws me back. I lift my gaze to his face and hold back a gasp. He's terrifying. A large, burly Nord, equipped with well-polished armor and a battle-axe that is the full length of his body. Long black hair lies matted over his forehead and shoulders as he grunts at me, licking his lips to speak.

"You got business here, stranger?" His voice is deep and foreboding.

I swallow back my fear, and try to sound menacing. "My business is my own."

He raises an eyebrow at me. "You got any idea where you are? Everyone's business is Maven Black-Briar's business. And Maven Black-Briar's business is my business. So I'll ask you again. You got business here, stranger?"

I swallow again. Gods, he sounds like he's going to rip my throat out. I stand a little taller, crossing my arms over my chest. "And who is Maven Black-Briar?"

He smirks menacingly at me. "She's the queen of this city, and you'd do well to remember it. She controls the trade flow. She controls the citizens. She controls one of the best meaderys in all of Skyrim. If the guards wanna arrest someone, they check with her first. And the Thieves Guild's got her back. So you had better watch _your_ back."

I tilt my head to one side. "The Thieves Guild?" I've never heard of such a thing.

"Aye," he says, spitting off to the side. "They used to be the best guild of thieves in the land. But things went south for 'em a few years back. Now they aren't much more than a rag-tag team of fools who'll do anything for a few septims out of your pocket. But Maven wants 'em protected, so watch yourself. Wouldn't wanna be messing with someone who's willing and able to burn off your face," he says, winking slyly at me.

I pull my hood up around my face and look around, making sure nobody heard. "I'll be careful."

He nods at me, allowing me to move along. I rush past him, eager to get away. That was close. I thought he was going to try something. I'm glad he didn't. I don't know what would have happened. I continue deeper into the heart of the city and find the inn. I hurry inside, welcoming the warm scent of mead and the softglow of the torchlight.

_**Hope you guys like it! I'm new at the whole fan fiction thing so...let me know if I made any huge mistakes or anything. I am straying quite a bit from the dialogue in the game, I realize. And actually...Melara isn't the Dragonborn! But more of that later. For now, comment and favorite if you'd like! ^_^**_


	2. Chapter 2

It's a nice place. Cozy. There are more people here than I thought. I look around for a vacant table and can hardly see past all the people in here. There's a big sign overhead with 'The Bee and Barb' splattered across it. I guess that's the name of the inn. Appears to be run by a couple of Argonians. One's up at the front, cleaning out mugs and the other is hobbling around, getting people's orders for drink and food. I check my coin purse. I've got…137 septims. That should be a good amount for a room for the night and a decent meal.

I approach the female Argonian and get a room key for ten septims. Not too bad. I wander around and find a secluded table away from the rest of the crowd and take a seat. I pull my hood down and allow myself to relax for a moment. I ask the male Argonian for some food and he brings me some horker loaf and a mug of mead. Five septims. When my belly is full and I have a place to stay for the night, I don't much care for the costs. I lean back into my seat and close my eyes, allowing myself to drift into the conversations of others.

I sit like that for a while. Twenty minutes? A half hour, maybe? I really don't know. I come back into reality when I hear the soft chuckle of someone beside me, standing by the fireplace. He's leaning leisurely on the stone, his arms crossed lightly over his chest. He's dressed in very fine clothes, but that's about the only fine thing about him. He looks dirty, speckles of Skyrim soil stuck to his face and skin. His hair, a dark red hue, is rather neatly combed, but dirty. I suppose it'd be too much to expect for anyone to be clean out here. His face is older, perhaps in his thirties, but he's got a smirk on his lips that is youthful and filled with alluring humor. He's laughing at me. Looking right at me, and chuckling to himself. I look over at him and tilt my head. He approaches my table and sits down opposite me, leaning on his elbows.

"Never done an honest day's work in your life with a coin purse that full, eh lass?" His voice is soft, and he's got a thick accent that I can't quite pinpoint.

"Excuse me?" I whisper.

"Oh, don't be actin' coy. Everyone in here heard the jingle in your purse right when you stepped in the door. But you didn't earn one septim honestly, did you? I can tell."

I look at him, sitting up straighter. "My wealth is none of your business."

He leans back in his chair and laughs at me. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong lass. Wealth _is_ my business." He eyes me over, then leans in closer. "You look like you'd have quick fingers and a silver tongue. Perhaps you'd like to put 'em to use for me?"

I blink at him. My first day in Riften and I'm getting approached for work? But not just any work…Stealing? Oh Gods, what have I gotten myself into?

"What...what did you have in mind?" I stammer.

He looks over my shoulder and leans over the table, his voice no more than a whisper. "Here's what we're goin' to do. I'm goin' to start a bit of a ruckus in the square. And while everyone is distracted and inattentive, I want you to sneak over to Modesi's stand. He's the Argonian jeweler. I want you to steal a silver ring from his lockbox, and then plant it in Brand-Shei's pocket. Brand-Shei is a dark elf, and has a stand nearby Modesi's."

I quirk my eyebrow at him. "Why? Why frame Brand-Shei?"

He smirks at me. "You're an innocent one. Good." He runs his hand through his hair and shrugs once. "We've been contacted because Brand-Shei owes something to someone. Something that he doesn't have the coin to replace. So, we've been asked to send a message. Bein' as we aren't the Dark Brotherhood, there'll be no killin'. Just a few days in a jail cell is what we're shootin' for."

"And what makes you think I can do this?" I inquire. "I'm no thief. And if the dark elves are as clever as I've heard, there's no way I'll be able to pull this on him.

He leans across the table and looks me square in the eye. "Did you have to pay the visitor's fee?"

I blink at him and shake my head once.

He shrugs. "Then you'll be fine. Brand-Shei's a drunk. He's drunk literally all the time. You'll have nothin' to worry about lass. So what do you say? Are you in?"

I look away from him for a moment. If I get involved in this, I've got a sick feeling that I'll never be able to get past it. Thievery isn't how I was raised. But then again, I wasn't raised to kill either. Seems I've already gotten that one out of the way. What's one more step in the wrong direction?

I look at him and nod as confidently as I can manage. "I'll do it."

He claps his hands together and nods once. "Ah, wonderful. I'll be in the square tomorrow all day, from eight in the mornin' until eight in the evenin'. We can speak more then. Come and find me."

He stands, and I stand along with him. My palms are sweating. I'm already nervous, and I haven't even done anything yet. "Wait, what's your name?"

He looks at me and smiles. "Brynjolf." He then nods his goodbye and crosses the inn towards the entrance, and disappears outside into the dimming sky.

_**A little bit shorter than the first chapter. Hope you guys like it so far! **_


	3. Chapter 3

People are yelling. Two people. A man and a woman. Their voices are familiar. Who are they? Why are they yelling? Stop. Stop yelling! It's hurting my ears. The woman is crying. The man hit her. She's holding the left side of her face and sitting on the floor, screaming at him. The man turns to me. Let go of my arm. Don't look at me like that. Why are you drawing your dagger? I don't understand. He cut me. My hand is bleeding, but he's looking at the woman on the floor. I glare at him. Then, an explosion. Fire, everywhere. It's warm and welcoming and beautiful. When it's cool again, the man is gone. It smells awful now, but he's gone. The woman is whimpering in the corner. I look down at my hands and they're coated in blood. The blood isn't mine.

I awaken the next morning to the smell of sweet rolls being baked below. The aroma draws me out of bed, but it takes everything in my power to actually wake up. That was the first full night's sleep I've had in three days. But that dream…it wont stop haunting me. My body is stiff and my head is heavy. I must have slept like a rock. Or maybe I just drank a little too much mead. I find my robe and hood and pull them on, then retrieve my knapsack from the corner and head downstairs. The female Argonian offers me some breakfast. I politely decline, saying that I have things to take care of.

As I step outside, I look up at the sky. I don't know what time it is. Father told me once that if you're looking up to the sky, a thumb's length counts for an hour. Follow the sun with your thumb, and you'll be able to tell what time it is. I climb the stairs to the top of the inn and stand on the balcony. From the horizon to the sun is nine thumb lengths. It's nine in the morning. Damn. I must have slept almost twelve hours. No wonder I'm sore. I turn my head and catch sight of the market. I see the smithy, the general goods store, the butcher, and Brynjolf.

He's standing tall. Confidently. You wouldn't be able to tell he's a thief unless you talked to him. He's buying a loaf of bread, paying for it honestly. How odd. He's a thief. Why wouldn't he just steal it? I keep my eyes on him and study his movements. He looks off to the side and bends down, with the shopkeeper. He seems to be looking for something. Then he stands before the shopkeeper and swipes his septims back off of the stand before anyone sees. He then goes on his merry way. What a sneak. I smirk to myself and head back down the stairs, starting in the direction of the market.

It's a lot busier once you're actually in the square. People are brushing past me. Running into me, laughing and drinking already, so early in the day. I look for Brynjolf, but I can't see him. I can't see anything with all these people everywhere. Another person knocks into me, then swears at me for running into him. I turn and glare at him. What an ass. I didn't do a damn thing. I was standing here the entire time. It's not my fault if some idiot decides to just wander into people. I ought to teach him a lesson. I feel my hands warm. I feel the sun on my face, the heat coursing through my body. I feel the flicker of flame in my palm and I turn to the man, ready to set him aflame.

Someone catches my arm. I get pulled off to the side and I stumble a bit, forgetting about my anger just long enough to stand up straight. I look around at the person who grabbed me. It's Brynjolf.

"I'm glad you're here, lass. Are you ready?"

I look around again for the man who bumped into me, then shake my head. It doesn't matter. He'll get what's coming to him.

"Are you alright?"

I turn to look at Brynjolf and he's staring me down. He's got an expression of stern caution and wariness, but also a bit of concern. He releases my arm and I nod. He then nods and pulls me further away from the crowd. We're standing behind a fruit stand and he holds onto my shoulders, centering me.

"Alright. There's Modesi's stand right over there. You're gonna need to pick the lock to get into the lockbox."

I widen my eyes at him. "I…I don't know the first thing about lockpicking! I don't even have a lockpick." I feel my palms start to sweat.

He smirks at me and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a lockpick. "You've got a knife, right?"

I nod at him and he looks around for a second. We bend behind the fruit stand and I spot a lockbox behind a crate of fruit. He pulls it out and motions for me to try to pick the lock. I look at him, dumbfounded.

He laughs at me. "Here, let me show you."

He puts the lockpick in my right hand and the knife in my left. He takes hold of my hands and goes through the motions of picking the lock. Insert the lockpick, find the right angle and then insert the knife. Give the lock a little jiggle. If it goes, you're in the right spot. If not, adjust the lockpick. After a minute or two, he releases my hands and I'm doing it myself. Then, the lock opens and I'm in. I open the lockbox and spot a few septims, a chunk of silver ore and a small, shiny, amethyst stone. Brynjolf motions for me to take what I want, and I take the septims out of the box, then shut and lock it again.

"Well done, lass. You're going to do fine. Are you ready?" he asks me as we stand back up.

I smooth out my robes. "I…Yes. Yes, I'm ready."

He pats me on the shoulder and moves into the middle of the square. I circle the outside of the square and eye up Modesi's stand. I see the lockbox. I swallow back my fear and grip and lockpick tight in my hand. As promised, Brynjolf's voice booms through the square. He's only talking to a few people, but he's making sure that his voice is heard throughout the crowd.

"Did you hear about that business that happened in the Jarl's palace a few days ago? Seems someone tried to start a fire. Burnt down the drapes and everything!"

And, just like wildfire, the rumor spreads through the crowd and they flock towards Brynjolf and his lie. I smirk at him and crouch down, careful to make as little noise as possible and I near Modesi's stand. I look around a few times to make sure nobody's looking, then start trying to pick the lock. I jiggle the lock once. Nothing. I move the lockpick to another angle and try again. Still nothing. I move the lockpick again and push a little harder with the knife, trying to get the lockbox open.

The lockpick breaks. Part of it is still wedged into the lock, and the other part goes flying, hitting Modesi in the shoulder. Before I can move, think or speak he whips around and looks right at me. I draw my hands back immediately and stand, looking around desperately. Oh shit.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing over there?" His raspy Argonian voice is louder than Brynjolf's and people start to turn to me.

Oh Gods, no. A crowd. People are looking at me angrily. Someone drew a sword. Modesi is starting towards me. Keep control, Melara. Don't lose it. Don't lose it. Close your eyes and breathe.

"I…I didn't mean…"

"Now folks, don't worry about this here mess. I'll take care of it. Modesi, I'm so sorry. I'll take her to the guards immediately."

Brynjolf dispels the tension and takes me roughly by the arm, pulling me out of the square and into a dark alley. I can feel the crowds' gaze on me as we move. I can't breathe. Brynjolf shoves me against a wall and then turns, running a hand quickly through his hair. He's upset. Is he going to hurt me?

"I'm sorry, Brynjolf, I tried…"

He shakes his head. "You almost exposed us! People in this town are gettin' real lax about the Thieves Guild and your little display there almost ruined that for us. What were you thinkin'?"

I look away from him and try to breathe evenly. I close my eyes. I can't lose it. Not with him. Not here, where there's so many people. I can't. I can't. I _won't_. Breathe, Melara. He's just chastising you. Don't use your magic. Don't lose control. Not here, not now.

"Hey lass…are you alright?"

I don't answer him. I can't open my eyes. I can't open my mouth. I can't. Not yet. My body's not ready. I have to calm down.

"Hey there lass, relax. It's gonna be alright."

I feel his hand close around one of my shoulders. I open my eyes and look down at my hands. My fists are clenched and engulfed in flame. Brynjolf has pushed me against the wall and is looking into my eyes, searching them. I don't know if he's doing it to check if I'm alright, or to make sure I don't burn anyone to death. I look away from him and put my hands down, diminishing my magic. I just need to relax. I inhale twice, three times through my nose and let it out slowly. Brynjolf tilts his head to one side and looks at me with a wary expression. I shake my head at him.

He backs away from me and runs a hand through his hair again. "I guess I expected too much from you. Far too much, so it seems."

I look down, a bit shamed by his words. I did the best I could. I don't know anything about thievery or lockpicking or pickpocketing. What the hell else did he expect?

He turns back towards me, scratching his chin. "But I still think you have the spark that I'm lookin' for. You've got a lot of enthusiasm and spunk."

I tilt my head at him. "I don't know about this. I…I don't have anything planned out or anything and I…I'm really unsure about where to go…I just ran away from my home over in Ivarstead and I don't know anyone or anything or…"

He holds up a hand, cutting me off. "Alright lass, here's my offer. My organization makes its home in the Ratway under the city. It's a series of tunnels and sewage pipes that lead to a little tavern called the Ragged Flaggon. You think on it, and meet me there if you wanna take things a step further. We can talk more about your future."


	4. Chapter 4

He pats me gently on the shoulder before I can say anything more, then takes off in the direction of the graveyard, pulling up his hood as he goes. I watch him for a second, then lean back against the stone behind me and sink to the ground. My hands are shaking and I feel sweat beading on my forehead. I feel…incredible. Exhilarated. Using my power like this…I didn't expect it to feel so right. I didn't expect to feel so complete. Sure, I'm afraid. Terrified But what's fear in the face of so much power? I close my eyes and smile to myself, trying to cool down.

In a few minutes, I make my way back into the square, my hood up and face shrouded in shadow. Nobody in the square can know that Brynjolf didn't turn me in. Brynjolf…what is it about him? He's…calm. He's at peace with himself, I can tell. But what about that outburst in the alley? He frightened me. I thought he might hit me. But then a moment later, he was concerned for me. But was he concerned for me, or for his own safety? He's odd. He's confusing. And…strangely attractive. His accent and the calmness of his voice have washed over me each time he's spoken. It's odd, being as I've just met the man. I feel drawn to him. I shouldn't. He's a thief, and a damn good one from what my gut tells me. He's dangerous. Perhaps that's why he's so attractive?

I shake the thoughts away as I make my way through town, taking the stairs down to the lower levels of the city. There's an apothecary down here. I open the door that says 'Elgrim's Elixirs' and make my way inside. It smells like burnt grass and floral arrangements.

There's a wrinkled old Nord lady at the front desk. She smiles at me as I come in. "Hello dear. What can I do for you?"

I smile at her from within my hood. "I was wondering if you'd be able to make anything out of these?" I present my satchel of herbs that I've found on my journey here.

The woman takes them and sorts through them methodically, taking them over to the alchemy lab. I take a seat off to the side and close my eyes again, listening to her work. What would happen if I did join the Thieves Guild? I don't know the first thing about thievery. I can't wield a dagger or a bow. I obviously can't pick locks and I can hardly imagine what pickpocketing must be like. There's no way that they'd be able to make use of a mage. No way.

"Dear? Your potions are done."

Gods, how long have I been sitting here? The little old lady is standing in front of me with four vials in her hand. I raise my eyebrow at her.

"A health potion, to replenish strength. A magicka potion, to keep your spellcraft strong. And two cure-alls for any diseases that you might contract."

I grin at her and reach for my coin purse. She stops me. "Oh, no need for that dear. The pleasure of being able to make these is enough payment for me. But…if you could make a delivery for me, I'll throw in an extra health potion." She winks at me.

I chuckle. "Of course. What do you need delivered?"

She hands me the potions and hobbles over behind the front desk. As I stow them away, she begins to scribble onto a piece of parchment, then attaches it to a sack. "Take these up to the smithy in town. Tell him thank you." She smiles so widely that her eyes disappear into her wrinkles.

I nod once, taking the sack from her. She snaps once and then retrieves another health potion for me, placing it into my knapsack. I thank her again, then take my leave of Elgrim's Elixirs. As I make my way back up the stairs and into the main part of Riften, my mind drifts again to Brynjolf and his offer. Maybe I could learn? How hard can it be to pick up a dagger and swing, or nock an arrow and shoot? I mean…just seeing what they had to say wouldn't hurt, right?

I near the blacksmith at about ten o'clock. The sun is hot today, beating down on my back and shoulders. It feels divine. As much as I want to, I can't take my hood down. Nobody can see me. I approach the blacksmith, hard at work. He's yet another burly Nord, but he looks older. Withered, would be an appropriate word. But strong still. Long, grey, matted hair lies at his neck, tied into a neat little tail. A thick, white beard coats his face and his tongue is protruding from one side of his chapped lips. I'm almost afraid to interrupt him. I stand awkwardly to the side and wait for him to finish.

"What can I do for you, milady?" he asks, stoking the fire of the forge.

I offer the sack to him and he takes it in one hand, smirking at the note. "Ahh, Elgrim. Such a sweet old thing."

"What was she thanking you for, if I may?" I lean against the workbench off to the side and out of his way.

"Ahh, she asked me to smith a few daggers for her shop. I guess they had someone break in a few nights ago. Can never be too careful, what with the Thieves Guild and all."

I nod absently, agreeing with him. I spot a few random ingots strewn about and large and small chunks of ore just lying around. The blacksmith looks busy, and tired. Sweat is pouring down his face, but he just keeps going. I stand up straight and smooth out my robes.

"Do you need any help around the forge?"

He brushes off his hands on his apron and looks me over. "I wouldn't have taken you for a smith."

I shrug once. "I'm not. Just wondering if you'd like a little free help," I say, smiling.

He chuckles at me. "Well, you know how to smelt? Just shovel some of this here coal into the smelter over there and melt the ore down into ingots. Ingots, I can work with. Think you can handle that?"

I look over to the ore pile off to the side. It's…rather monstrous really. Goes all the way up to my hip. But, I did offer. I roll up the sleeves on my robes and find a shovel, and start on the pile.

It's almost one o'clock by the time I finish. I made thirty-nine ingots out of that pile. The blacksmith looks at the pile of ingots and smirks at me. "Well done, there. You're a natural smelter."

I smile at him, wiping the sweat from my brow. It's hot. Really hot. But it feels good to be doing this. Helping people. He offers me one of the swords that he's smithed as payment for helping. I take it from him, attaching it to my hip with a leather tie. He thanks me again and I take my leave of the smithy.

The sun is high in the sky. It's hot and sweat is pouring down my back. My face is hot and my hair is sticking to my neck. As good as it feels, I've got to get out of the sun. Then, an idea hits me. Brynjolf did say that the Ratway was under the city. Under the city means out of the sun. Out of the sun means that I cool down. Plus, I'll get the chance to see Brynjolf again and to hear what he has to offer. I ponder all of this a bit while I make my way down the stairs again and to the lower parts of the city. Most of the doors are labeled down here, but I spot one that isn't. My gut tells me that it must be the Ratway entrance. After all, if there was a secret entrance to the Thieves Guild hideout, you wouldn't label it, now would you?

I open the doors and a cool, dark air hits my face. I enter and close the door behind me, engulfing my hands in flame so that I can see. It's pitch black in here and I don't like the dark. I gather my hair to one side of my neck and lower my hood, ignoring the rancid smell within the tunnels as I wander through, trying to find my way to the Ragged Flaggon.

No more than five minutes into the tunnels, I press myself to the wall, and extinguish my flames. I hear voices. I crouch low to the ground and cover my mouth with my hand to quiet myself. I listen a little closer, and risk taking a few more steps into the tunnels to see if I can hear better. In a bit, the flicker of torchlight glows on the wall. I sit still and listen again.

"I don't know what the hell you're expecting for us here. You told me we'd be living in mansions by now, with piles of money and as many wenches as we could hold!" one man shouts.

"Will you be quiet?" the other replies. "Do you want everyone in the damn guild to hear you? We will get the money, alright? Why do you think we've been down here for the last few nights? I'm scoping out the guild."

"What the hell good is that going to do, eh? Scoping them out for what?"

"We're going to kill them, skeever brain. Every last one of them. I'm betting they have tons of loot down there. They are a bunch of thieves after all. So we go in, kill them, loot them, and leave. Simple."

"I think that's a terrible idea," the first man replies.

I hear a thud, and I assume the second man slapped the first.

"How about you just worry about knocking some heads, and I'll worry about everything else. Alright?"

"Alright, alright. I'm going to go scout out the rest of the tunnels."

I freeze. Oh shit, one of them is coming this way. And from the deep, manly sound of his voice, I'll bet that he's big. I have to think fast. I could try and fight him. After all, I did take on three wolves just yesterday. I hear the clank of his armor as he grows closer. No. There's no way I'll be able to hurt this warrior. I reach around for something, anything to help me out.

My fingers close around a small chunk of stone. I pick it up, and throw it down the opposite corridor from mine. It clangs down the hall and comes to a stop a few yards away.

"Oi, we got something over here!" the man bellows.

The first, then the second man charge down the hallway. I take the opportunity to slide my way behind them and make my way deeper into the Ratway. Gods, that was close. I don't know what I would have done. I didn't want to kill him, or his stupid friend. I didn't want any more blood on my hands. I crouch low and, when I think I'm far enough away, reignite my hands in flame to guide my path.

Surprisingly, I find no more trouble and I find myself at another unmarked door. There's a strange symbol off to the side; a diamond with a small circle in the center. I have no idea what it means and I shrug, opening the door.

Immediately, I hear voices again. I extinguish my flames and slide along the wall, peering into the large, stone room. It's brighter in here, torches lining the walls and reflecting off of a small pool of water in the center of the room. As I slide closer, I see a man standing on the other side of a stone bridge, his arms crossed over his chest and a large axe on his back. Damn. I don't want to get into a fight. I sit for a moment and think.

"Give it up, Bryn. When are you going to figure out that the guild is a gods-damned lost cause?"

I listen in, wondering if 'Bryn' is a nickname for Brynjolf.

"Yea, you know….You, Vex, Mercer and Delvin…you're a dying breed. There aren't many out there like you anymore."

"Nah, lad listen. This one is different. Sure, she failed the initial test but she's definitely got somethin' drivin' her. Somethin' that we're lackin'.

"Bryn, I'm telling you, it's a waste of time."

At this point, I'm sure that Brynjolf is the one talking. His thick accent booms through the room and I stand up straight, smoothing out my robes. I cross the stone bridge and pass by the man who was standing there. He flares his nostrils at me but doesn't stop me. Once I'm behind Brynjolf and the rest of the group, I clear my throat, announcing my presence.

He turns around and smirks at me, and I can't help but smile.

"Waste of time, eh? Then what do you call that?" he comments, motioning for me to come closer. I approach him, my hands folded in front of me.

He pats my shoulder. "Well, color me impressed lass. I never expected I'd see you again. Did you have much trouble gettin' here?"

I open my mouth to tell him about the two men in the hallway, but shut it again. I don't want to sound weak and frightened like a child. I shake my head at him.

"I don't believe you for a second, lass," he comments, lifting an eyebrow.

I sigh. "There were two men in the caverns that I had to sneak past. They said they were planning on coming in here and...killing you. Killing everyone."

He rubs his chin and nods. "I'll take care of it. Now…I've got a task for you, lass." He puts his hands on his hips and smirks at me. "There are a few people in the city that owe the guild a hefty sum of gold, and they've decided not to pay. What I want you to do is…well, get the payment."

"Any…particular _way_ you'd like me to get it? Or should I just go in a burn everyone to death?" I ask him, half teasing, half annoyed that he won't elaborate.

"No, no burning, no death, none of that. Just threaten them a little. Hell, brawl them if you have to. Honestly, the debt is secondary here. What I really want you to get across is that a debt to the guild is not to be taken lightly. Think you can handle it?"

I shrug and nod. How hard could it be?

"Good," he replies. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small paper. "These are the folks and their locations. Do this right lass, and you may find yourself with a permanent position in our organization." He winks at me and pats me on the shoulder again, disappearing down a hallway.

I look around at the scrupulous gazes that surround me and turn back around, speeding out of the area. I'm uncomfortable as it is. Don't want to push it. I make my way across the room to the other side and re-enter the Ratway, hoping that I can be intimidating enough to make it into the Thieves' Guild.

_**Melara's made it this far. Will she be able to intimidate the patrons into giving up the gold? Or will things take a different turn? And what of Brynjolf? He seems to have taken a bit of an interest in her. Will she make her way into the guild, and into his heart? More to come!**_


	5. Chapter 5

I managed to make it back into the city without running into those two bandits again. I was surprised. The sun is a bit lower now, just barely cresting over the buildings in Riften. I pull my hood back over my head to hide my face as I enter the streets, taking a look at the paper that Brynjolf handed me. The first on the list is Keerava, of the Bee and Barb. Great. Probably the female argonian that helped me out last night. Now I have to threaten her.

I make my way to the inn and slither inside. It's relatively busy, and the male argonian isn't anywhere to be seen. This presents an excellent opportunity. I make my way over to the bar, where Keerava seems to be cleaning up a spill. I look around to make sure nobody is in the imediate area and lash out with my hand, grabbing Keerava's. She looks at me, startled.

"Oh! Is there something I can get you?" she asks warily.

I glare at her. "I bring you a message from Brynjolf, argonian. It's time to pay up." My threatening tone suprises even me.

To my dismay, she glares back and snatches her hand away. "I've already told him I'm not paying him one septim. Now get out of here before I call the guards!"

A few people are looking over. I feel my cheeks grow hot with anxiety and I look at her again, trying to look as intimidating as I can. "I won't ask you again. Pay up, or there's going to be trouble."

She crosses her arms over her chest. "And I'm not asking again either." She nods off to the side, towards someone. I look over and see the male argonian heading out the door to get the guards.

"No, please! I'll go, I'll go!" I beg, backing away from the bar. Gods forbid I should be in that position. Nobody would come out of it looking good.

"Good. Don't let me catch you in here again, Breton," she warns.

I turn around and head out of the inn and into an alley. Damnit. That didn't go like I was hoping. I thought this would be easy. Seems people here are a bit more headstrong than I had anticipated. No matter. Two out of three debts isn't too bad, right?

I pull the list out of my pocket and take a look. The second on the list is Haelga, of Haelga's Bunkhouse. I stow away and note and make my way around the streets until I find the place. When I open the door, the scent of floral arrangements fills my nose. It's overpowering. The woman at the front desk, presumably Haelga, greets me with a smile. I don't return it, but turn to my right and make my way around the room. I see to the side a statue of Dibella, surrounded by at least a dozen boquets of flowers. It's practically a shrine, right out in the open. Then, an idea hits me. I grab the statue with both hands, and bring it up to the front desk.

"What are you doing with that? Put her down!" Haelga shouts.

I smirk at her. "So, you're saying I _shouldn't_ say...drop it in a well?"

"No, please! Not lady Dibella! I need her!"

I set the statue down on the floor beside me and glare at Haelga from beneath my hood. "Pay what you owe to the Thieve's Guild, and you'll never see me again."

"Fine! Fine, whatever you want. Just leave the statue, please..." she begs.

I smile to myself, feeling accomplished. I lug the statue back to its shrine and approach Halega.

"Here's your damn coin. I hope you choke on it." She presents me with a hefty coin purse, probably around 100 septims. I swipe it off of the desk and exit the building.

Success! I stow the coin purse in my satchel and smile to myself. That was easier than I thought it would have been. Now I just have to get the last debt. Surely Brynjolf would understand. People are stubborn. There's nothing else I could do about Keerava without risking everyone's lives.

I shake the frightening thought and pull out the list, looking at the last name. Bersi Honey-Hand, of the Pawned Prawn.

It takes me forever to find the place. It's in some dirty back alley, stowed away like an old pair of pantaloons that nobody wants. I open the door and a musty, dirty scent fills my nostrils. There's a Nord woman cooking something on the fire just in front of the door, but the scent does nothing for the appetite. I look to my right, and Bersi stands behind his desk, which is piled with worthless junk that people pawned off to him. He greets me with a smile.

"Welcome to the Pawned Prawn, milady. What can I do for you?"  
Damnit, why do people have to be so nice? They would be so much easier to genuinely threaten if they had the demeanor of a frost troll. I close my eyes for a moment and then glare straight into Bersi's eyes. He looks taken aback by this.

"Brynjolf sent me," I hiss.

He glares. Shit. "You're with that damnable thief? I know what this is about." He crosses his arms over his chest and leans to one side. "So what, Bryn's not man enough to come to me himself? He sends some Breton wench to do his fighting for him?"

...

He just called me a wench.

_He _used to call me a wench all the time. A dirty, mage-blood wench with no real purpose to her life. A wench who was worth nothing to him, or to anyone. I feel my hands ball into fists and grow hot with my anger. My rage. A _wench?_ How dare he address me with such a derrogatory term!

I open my eyes and stare right at Bersi. My hands are engulfed in flame. He takes a step back. I turn, and look around the room, deciding on the vase behind me, and fire flows from my hands, shattering it. Bersi gasps.

"Th-that was Dwarven! An ancient dwemer vase...recovered from-"

I blast a nearby bookcase, setting the entire thing aflame. The wood crackles.

"You dare...to address me as a _wench?_" I growl.

He holds his hands up defensively, taking another step back. Panic shrouds his features. "I'm sor-"

I slam my hands down on the desk, and they begin to burn through the wood. I don't notice. My eyes are locked with Bersi's.

"If you ever..._ever_ call me that again...I...I'll..." I can't even finish my sentence. My anger...it's burning. Rage, filling me up. Flashes of a house, a man and a wife, their daugter. A happy family, burning like the wood of this pawn shop. Happiness, destroyed by flame. A home that was ripped apart...by me. Just like this shop is being ripped apart. I look around me. Bersi and the Nord woman are gone. The fire has spread to the corners of the walls, engulfing nearly everything. I blink. Oh gods, no...

I try to contain it, and fail. My powers over ice are no match for this blaze. I cough once, twice, then leave the building, disappearing into the crowd that has formed outisde. Everyone has come to see the catastrophe. The catastrophe that I caused. I run. I run outside of the marketplace. I run to the farthest corner of the city that I can get to. I slink to the ground in the graveyard, my face falling into my hands. Tears stream through my fingers. Damnit. Damn it all.

The Ragged Flaggon is emptier than it was earlier. It's understandable, I suppose. A blazing fire would present the perfect opportunity for an experienced thief to raid peoples' homes while they watched. Coming into the Flaggon, I see Brynjolf speaking to another man. He looks a bit older, with matted grey hair and a downright angry expression. His arms are crossed over his chest as Brynjolf speaks. I approach from the side, one measly coin purse in my hand. Brynjolf turns to me and takes the purse without a word. I keep my gaze towards the ground. I failed. I know it, he knows it. Hell, the whole damn guild probably knows it.

"This is the Breton, then?"

Brynjolf nods. "Aye."

"She's responsible for the fire in town?"

I wince. No punches pulled, I see.

"Aye, that she is. But Mercer-"

"No." He cuts Brynjolf off, shaking his head. "I will not allow her to stay here. Not if she's that much of a danger." He turns to me. "Get out. Out of here, out of Riften. Go somewhere where you can't cause any more damage."  
I look up at him, my eyes wide. "What?" I look to Brynjolf, and he looks away. "No...no, please. I can't leave. I...I have no where else to go!"

Mercer shrugs. "I don't care. I won't have you here. Go."

I shake my head fiercely, tears welling in my eyes. "You don't understand. I can't. I have...I have nothing. Nobody. No coin in my purse, no family to turn to." Tears begin to pour down my face. Anxiety builds in my chest. "Please, I'll do anything. Don't send me away. Please."

Mercer looks at me, then turns away. I sob once, pressing my hand to my mouth. Where else am I going to go? Windhelm is the nearest city, but it's a dangerous path, thick with frost trolls, ice wraiths and gods know what else. I won't go back to Ivarstead. What am I going to do?

"Mercer, have a bit of compassion..." Brynjolf starts.

"Brynjolf, don't start. I've made my decision."

"She doesn't have to be a thief!" he explains.

Mercer turns to him, a confused expression on his face. "This is the _Thieves' Guild,_ Bryn. What else is she going to be?"

"I don't know...what if she just...stays here? We can put her in one of the back rooms, keep her away from everyone else. Maybe she can clean for us or somethin'." He turns to me. "Do you know how to enchant armor and weapons?"

I nod once. "I know a bit, yes." I sniff once, watching the conversation with eager eyes.

"See, Mercer? She can be of some use. Don't turn her out. She obviously doesn't have anywhere else to go."

Brynjolf is defending me? Why would he do that? I look to Mercer, and he turns and looks me over. His gaze is searching, and a sarcastic smirk begins to form on his lips. It's a rather odd expression, and very unsettling.

"You're right, Bryn. She _can_ be of some use." He looks into my eyes. "You can stay here, on one condition. You'll be the maidservent."

I blink at him. "The what?"

"The maidservent. You'll cook, you'll clean, you'll provide enchanting services when we need. You'll clean the armor and fetch the mead. You'll do whatever we say, whenever we say. How does that sound?"

I blink at him. If I stay, I'm going to be a servent. At the whim of every man and woman in the guild. But...do I honestly have a choice? It's a bed to sleep in, a place where I can stay dry and keep myself fed. And I would have to work to earn pay anyway...this is really no different.

I nod. "Yes. Yes, it sounds perfect," I stammer.

Mercer grins creepily. "Excellent. You'll stay in the back room. You will adress each member of the guild as 'Sir' or 'Ma'am'. You will not speak to anyone unless spoken to. One complaint about the work, and you're out. Is that clear?"

I nod. Yes, it's clear. Harsh, but perfectly clear.

"Good. Bryn, show her to her room. You'll have tonight to get her acclimated. Tomorrow, and every day after, she's on her own."

I look at Brynjolf, then to Mercer. He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow at me. Brynjolf looks at me as well, and I swallow back my anxiety.

I bow to Mercer, keeping my eyes to the ground. "Yes, sir."

**_A bit of a twist in the story! Unexpected, I'm hoping. Will Melara be able to acclimate to Mercer's desires? Will Brynjolf reveal why he defended her? And what of the guild? Rumors of dragons have filled the Riften streets. Will a savior arrive to rescue them from the assault? More to come!_**

**_Reviews are eagerly welcomed. _^_^_ Thanks for reading so far, hope you guys like it!_**


	6. Chapter 6

Darkness. Dreams, flashing through subconciousness. A twitch here, a puff of breath there. A girl, sleeping in her room. The door cracks and light shines in, across her face. A man enters her room. She hears his footsteps and opens her eyes a bit as he closes the door. He creeps over to her bed and gets under the blanket, beside her. She turns to him and asks what he's doing. Nothing, he says. Nothing at all. Fingertips stroking her face, down her neck and collar bone, across her breast and then lower, to the hidden reaches of her body. She moves away from him. Stop it, she says. He rolls atop her, his trousers undone. She squirms. Shh, he whispers. Everything will be alright.

I awaken with a gasp, smelling smoke. A pile of hay beside my bedroll is on fire. I summon the powers of ice to my hand and quickly extinguish the flames. I sit still for a moment, breathing in shallow gasps. My body is drenched in sweat and my hair is sticking to my face. I close my eyes. That dream. That...memory. I run my hands over my face and shut my eyes tightly, trying desperately to think of something else. _Anything_ else. I get up, changing out of my night clothes into the maid's dress that I was assigned. I smooth it out and pull back my hair, making sure I look alright before entering the Thieve's Guild hideout.

I can scarcely believe it's been three months since I made that deal. It feels as though I've been here for a lifetime. As I wander out in the open, nobody acknowledges me. Good. That's how I prefer it anyway. One of the thieves is practicing his archery, another is picking locks. Two others, a man and a woman, are chatting at a table and drinking. Everything is normal.

I approach the two at the table, keeping my eyes low to the ground and my posture slightly bent. They both hand me their empty bottles without looking at me. I take them and scurry over to the cupboard, finding two more bottles and hurrying back with them, setting them on the table. Both of them scowl at me, as if I am disturbing them. I bow and turn away.

This is how things are now. I have to keep reminding myself that. The fact that I am staying here is a burden on the guild. Nobody wants me here, but makes use of my presence anyway. I wash the clothes, scrub the bloodstains on the floor, clean the weapons, shine the armor, cook the food, fetch the mead, wash the bed linens and enchant what they tell me to. This is my life. I am not a person. I am nothing.

There are piles of clothes at the bottom of each of the beds. I gather them all in my arms and move out into the Flaggon, towards the pool of water outside the bar. I reach into my satchel and pull out the soaps that I was given to wash with, and begin to scrub. As much as I complain, I am content here. I'm not in any danger of hurting anyone, because nobody pays me any mind. This was the fourth time I'd set the hay on fire in my sleep, but nobody knows about it. I couldn't tell Mercer, or he'd send me away. Brynjolf hasn't spoken to me since I made the deal and he showed me around. He'd given me one pitying glance before leaving me alone to get settled. That was it.

I sigh, tossing one of the shirts off to the side. My mind flashes back to that night, that arguement between Brynjolf and Mercer. I still wonder why he defended me. Why would he want me to stay? He knows I'm a danger. He knows I'm an awful thief. I'm not at all attractive. So what in the world could it be? Was it all along because he wanted me as the servent? It didn't seem that way when he spoke to Mercer. He seemed reluctant to suggest it, and every time he sees me now, he looks saddened. Like he regrets putting me in this position. I shake my head, leaving the thought alone for now.

As I continue to wash, someone else enters the Flaggon. I can tell by the footsteps that it's Brynjolf. He's got strong footsteps, and a confident stride pace. I smirk to myself, amazed that I can recognize the people here by there pace. I begin to scrub a bloodstain out of a pair of trousers and listen in to the conversation.

"-know what happened last time you found a recruit, Bryn," Dirge, the Flaggon's bodyguard comments.

"Yea, that Breton almost burned down Riften as a whole."

My cheeks redden. I know that they know I'm still over here. The fact that they don't care shows how little they think of me. Saddening, but not suprising.

Brynjolf doesn't comment, but continues to speak. "The lad pickpocketed me. And I didn't notice. I'd say that gives him a fair shot, eh?"

Another recruit, then. A man, by the sound of it. And sneaky enough to pull something out of Brynjolf's pocket without him noticing? Impressive.

"We'll see if he can even get in here. There've been alot of scrappers and scavengers in the Ratway these past few months. We don't even know if he'll make it."

I toss the trousers to the side and begin on the undergarments. By the smell of each pair I wash, the guild is still as sexually active as ever. I hold my breath and scrub.

"So what happened to Bersi, anyway? Did he end up rebuilding?" Dirge asks.

Brynjolf scoffs. "He skipped town the next morning. Mel scared the lad away. We ended up gettin' in and taking what was left of the Prawn, which wasn't much. She did the place in good," he says, with a hint of admiration in his voice.

I smile. He still calls me by my name, even though everyone else doesn't. It's either 'girl!' or 'hey, you!' or 'Breton!'. Never Melara. Brynjolf has taken to calling me Mel. I kind of like it. I toss a few pairs of underclothes to the side, as clean as I could get them. Only a few undershirts left. I dunk them and lather them in soap.

"Where is she, anyway?" Brynjolf asks. He doesn't know I'm here.

Nobody answers. Why don't they tell him where I am?

"Oi, Dirge. Where's Melara?" he asks again.

Dirge's tone becomes a bit annoyed. "Why do you _care_?"

I hold my breath.

"'Scuse me?"

"She's the servent, Bryn! Why does it matter where she is, so long as she's doing what she's told?"

"The only reason she's workin' for you all in here is because Vekel had to beg Mercer to allow it. So don't act like you have authority over her."

I can just imagine Dirge. He's probably getting angry.

"What do you see in her, Bryn? All she is is a maidservent. You can do a hell of a lot better." I can hear the smirk in his voice.

Brynjolf shoves him. "What in Oblivion are you talkin' about, eh?"

Dirge shoves back. "We've all seen the way you look at her! Don't pretend you don't. Come on. She's nothing. What about Grelka, up in the marketplace, hm? You could bed her easily."

Dirge grunts, and I think that Brynjolf punched him.

"The lass isn't nothing, Dirge." He walks away and out of the Flaggon.

I bite my lip. Wow...Bryn defended me. Again. I gather up the sopping wet clothes in my arms and make my way through the Flaggon, past Dirge. He grasps my arm and yanks me back. I drop the clothes in a heap and stare at him, holding my tongue.

"You're nothing, Breton. You hear me? _Nothing_."

I nod. "Y-yes, sir."

His grip on my arm tightens for a moment, then he shoves me and pushes past, disappearing behind me. I bend to the ground and gather up the clothes. I head back into the hideout, my face red.

As I begin to hang the clothes out to dry, my head is racing. Brynjolf looks at me? He asks people where I am, what I'm doing? Why in the world would he care? I picture his face, his green eyes and long, crimson hair. That smirk from three months ago, when we first spoke. The way he called me 'lass'. That twinkle in his eye when I first made it into the Flaggon. I suppose...I _have_ developed a bit of a crush on him.

I finish hanging the clothes, and make my way to the arcane enchanter. The guild has left me a pile of items to enchant, from clothes to weapons to jewelry. I crack my knuckles and begin.

Before I can even start, I hear a door rush open and slam into the wall. Loud, thunderous footsteps echo through the room and I turn, looking for whoever just entered. Across the room, a large, leather-clad Nord strides in, confidently and cockily. He looks like a bit of an ass.

"Well? I made it in!" he shouts, making his presence known.

Brynjolf appears and walks over to him, shaking his hand.

"Good on you, lad!" he starts.

To my surprise, other thieves begin flocking towards him. Sapphire, Cynric, Rune and Vipir all hurry over to see the new recruit. He seems to be soaking up the attention quite heavily, a broad smile across his face. He flips his blonde hair out of his eyes and Sapphire swoons. I roll my eyes and return to my enchanting.

"So is it true that you're the-"

"Aye, it is," the recruit says.

"Well prove it then! Show us what you can do!" Rune exclaims, excitement in his voice.

"Hmm, where shall I show you, then?"

I look over my shoulder to see what they're talking about, but their voices have dropped to a whisper. Vipir is shielding his mouth from me, but it looks as though they are staring at me, whispering. I quirk an eyebrow. Eventually, I turn back to my work. They're probably telling him about when I burned down the Prawn. He won't think much of me once they're through.

Then, suddenly, the sound of thunder crackles through the room. The air begins to swirl and pick up, and a soft blue glow forms around the recruits face. I stare at him, dumbfounded.

"_Fus...Ro Da!" _

A rushing force slams into me and sends me flying backwards, and I smash into a bookcase. Books fall all around me, onto my head and into my lap. I'm pretty sure I cracked a rib. What in Oblivion just happened?"

Brynjolf rushes over to me, bending beside me and prodding me for injuries. As per my instruction, I'm not allowed to speak. I groan, trying to sit up straight.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to aim that at you!" the recruit shouts, jogging on over as well.

He hands me a flask of something and puts it to my lips, forcing me to drink it. As I do, I feel the muscles in my body rejuvinate, the bones that had fractured come together again. I think it was a healing potion. The recruit helps me to my feet and dusts me off, treating me with more respect than I've gotten in months. He steadies me with his hands on my shoulders and then lets me go, running his fingers through his hair.

"What did you just do?" I ask, my voice no more than a whisper.

He grins. "I shouted. Sorry that I hit you. I didn't mean to, I swear."

"You...shouted? As in...used the Thu'um?" I ask, my voice growing louder.

He nods.

"Then you're the...the..."

He smirks and holds out a hand to me. "The Dragonborn of Skyrim, at your service."

Brynjolf turns to him and whispers something in his ear. I don't take his hand to shake it. I lower my eyes to the ground and fold my hands behind my back. I was out of place asking him that. I shouldn't have spoken.

"Ahh, the maidservent, eh?" the Dragonborn says.

He begins to circle me, looking me over. "And a Breton, no less." He comes full circle and grins wolfishly at me. It's unsettling and a chill runs over my body. "We are going to have _some_ fun," he whispers, so only I can here.

"Sorry?" Brynjolf asks.

The Dragonborn shakes his head. "Nothing. Now, show me this establishment of yours. I want to see what I'm getting into before I agree."

Brynjolf nods and leads him away, and the others follow. I sink to my knees, holding my sides. The ache from the bookcase is still there, but it's dull in comparison to the fear that has settled in my gut. He looked at me the way that _he_ used to look at me. Used the same tone of voice. Had the same hungry gaze.

I turn, and vomit in the corner.

_**A bit of a view into the life of a maidservent. Melara's life is a shadow of what it once was. And now, everything is turning upside down with the entrance of the **_**Dovahkiin. **_What are his intentions? What will Melara be able to do without getting thrown out? And will Brynjolf finally speak to her and tell her what's going on in his head and heart?_ _**More to come soon!**_


	7. Chapter 7

Mercer caught word the occurance. I hear that he laughed. I hear that he didn't care. Shouldn't be suprising, but it still hurts to know that I mean so little to the people here. I cleaned up the vomit and retreated to my room for a while. I had to be alone, to try and get the disturbing thoughts out of my head. It worked, for the most part. I practiced a bit of magic. Luckily, my room has a door so nobody knows what I'm doing. Brynjolf allowed me to have a practice dummy in my room.

Eventually, I hear the guild becomming restless, like they need me for something. I emerge from my room and head out into the open room, looking around. Strange, but everyone seems content. It's the evening, so there aren't many thieves in here. Sapphire and Rune are the only two that I see. They're each by themselves, reading. I offer them each a bottle of mead, to which they rudely decline. I notice that the supply of mead is running low. Mercer should know.

I make my way towards Mercer's office. I knock on the door, and Mercer calls for me to come in. I come inside and immediately walk to the side of the room. Brynjolf is speaking with Mercer, as is the Dragonborn. My skin prickles and my throat goes dry. I do not want to be around him.

"What do you mean he sold Goldenglow?" Mercer asks, frustrated.

"I don't know what it means either, boss. But I've got the sale papers right here, straight from the safe," the Dragonborn says. He then turns to me, and offers me a sly wink.

I shudder. Gods, why doesn't he just leave me alone? I haven't been warm to him, or welcomming. I don't want him around at all, yet he hounds me and pays me so much attention that I get uncomfortable. It's unnerving and annoying. He calls me his 'little Breton.'

"Perhaps Gulum-Ey might know somethin', eh? He's always been good at decipherin' strange symbols and decodin' and all that. And that symbol there has come up a few times now, on these jobs that Hentar has been on."

Hentar. The Dragonborn's name.

"I suppose he might," Mercer comments, scratching his head. "Alright. Gulum-Ey it is, then. Find him, interrogate him. Figure out what's going on," he says, nodding towards Hentar.

He nods. "Right away, boss." He turns to exit and smirks at me. "You're looking lovely as always, little Breton," he comments, a sly undertone to his voice. I keep my eyes strictly to the ground as he passes me. The air he carries smells of musk and dirt and it makes my stomach turn.

Mercer turns to me, furrowing his brow. "What is it?"

"We're out of mead, sir."

"Then go get some," he states simply.

I open my mouth to speak, and stutter a bit. "I-You...You never let me out before, sir, so I wanted to let you know so you could get it, if you so chose."

He rolls his eyes, standing. "You've been here three months. I suppose it wouldn't be all bad to have you go out and get it yourself, hm? Gives me less to focus on."

Wow. Mercer's giving me quite a bit of freedom. I am suprised.

"But you're taking Bryn with you," he adds, nodding to Brynjolf.

"But sir-" I start, then silence myself. I spoke out of turn.

"What?" he asks, annoyed.

I bite my tongue. I don't want Brynjolf to be troubled with something this petty. If something is brewing with this Gulum-Ey person, that deserves his attention. Not worrying about me. I look at Brynjolf sheepishly, then look at the floor again.

"It's alright, lass. I can spare a few minutes to help you out," he states simply.

"Good. Now go." Mercer is getting impatient with me. He sits back down and rummages through some papers.

We make our way towards the ladder leading out of the hideout and he nudges me ahead. "Go ahead, lass. I'll meet you outside. I just have to grab my dagger. You polished it, yes?"

I nod. "Yes, sir."

I watch him disappear back inside and I climb the ladder, pushing the door open. This entrance is hidden, for the most part, under a grave in Riften. I pull the chain and the overhead pulls back, allowing me outside. That priestess isn't around, so I climb out and dust myself off. I hate not having my hood. I feel exposed and vulnerable without it. I haven't been outside in three months, I realize. Riften looks mostly the same. The graveyard is a bit overgrown, but that's nothing new. The same graves, the same names inscribed on the headstones. Everything is normal.

I hear Brynjolf crawl out behind me and I keep my eyes towards the ground, not saying much. I hook the knapsack to carry the mead around my back and wait for him to lead me out of the graveyard.

"You ready, lass?" he asks pleasently, watching my expression.

I nod, and we make our way into the marketplace. The sky is alight with beautiful reds and oranges as the sun sets over the horizon. I find myself captured by the view and begin to slow, taking in the sight as we walk. Brynjolf turns to me and watches me for a moment, and I catch him smiling before he turns away. I smile to myself and feel my cheeks warm a bit. We walk in silence for a bit.

"You know...that you don't have to keep up the appearence of bein' a servent when it's just you and I, right Mel?" he asks me, out of the blue.

I bite my lip. "If Mercer were to catch me...he would throw me out, sir. I'm not willing to risk it.

We turn into the square and head towards the Bee and Barb. There are a few people in the streets begging, a few talking and simply enjoying the evening. They seem so normal and content. Things are so simple for them. I feel my heart sink both with self pity and a bit of envy.

"Please lass," he says. "I don't like you speakin' as if I'm superior to you. It ain't fair."

"But you _are_ superior to me now, sir. I am the maidservent, in case you have forgotten," I reply, looking at him. His eyes are saddened but hopeful. And beautiful.

"Mel, I'm askin' you as a friend, not as a superior. When we're alone, whenever that happens, just call me Brynjolf."

He's suprising. When we're around the guild, he doesn't pay me any mind, doesn't seem to notice my existence but then...when we're alone, he cares. He wants me to be comfortable. It's odd, I suppose, but that's not entirely bad. I would be more than happy to be friends with him, even if it's only once in a while.

I nod. "Alright, if that's what you want."

He nods, seeming contented by my response and leaves it at that as we head into the Bee and Barb.

Again, the place is almost full. People drinking and singing along with the bard, eating to their heart's content. It's quite enjoyable to watch, really. We make our way up to the bar and Bryn approaches Keerava, a sly smirk on his lips. I turn my face from her, praying that she doesn't recognize me.

"Ahh, Keerava. You're lookin' lovely this evenin'. Have you shed a layer or two of that skin? It's positively radiant," he teases, leaning on the bar.

Keerava rolls her eyes. "What do you want, Bryn?" She cuts right to the point.

He grins. "I need...twenty bottles of Black-Briar, if you've got it."

Keerava narrows her gaze at him. "Twenty is an awful lot for one man to drink, isn't it?" Her raspy voice is a bit accusing.

He shrugs. "It's not just for me. It's for me and my lady here," he says, smirking.

His lady. He means me. I can't help but grin a little. The thought is enticing, though entirely impossible. Even still, I feel my stomach flip a bit at his words.

Keerava smirks. "Ah, if that's the case," she says sarcastically, then disappears behind the bar. She hauls up two cases of Black-Briar mead, each holding ten bottles. I begin to load them into my knapsack, keeping my face as hidden as possible.

"How much do I owe you?"

Keerava grins slyly. "Fifty septims."

Brynjolf widens his eyes. "Fifty? Oi lass, that's a bit steep, isn't it?"

"Not after that little trick your Breton friend tried to pull three months ago, it isn't," she hisses. I feel her eyes on me, searching me. "Come to think of it, you look alot like her." She's reaching for me, trying to grab my arm.

"Alright, alright. Fifty septims it is, you troll." He plops a coin purse on the bar as I load the last of the mead into the sack, tying it shut. I don't hesitate, and immediately start towards the exit.

I head straight outside, not even worrying about Brynjolf behind me. I try to breathe evenly. Keerava commenting on my appearence brings that entire night back to me. The anxiety in my chest, the look on Bersi Honey-Hand's face as his shop burnt to the ground, the anger in Mercer's words when he told me to leave and never come back. The mercy in Brynjolf's suggestion when he asked Mercer to allow me to stay. My chest siezes and I have to struggle to hold back a sob. I walk slowly now, evenly, trying to calm down.

I feel a hand on my shoulder as Brynjolf falls into the step beside me. He's watching me, but I don't look at him. I can't look at him, or I might lose it. I hate that I have so little control over myself. Especially around him.

"You alright, lass?"

I sniff once. "Yes. Yes, I'm...I'll be alright."

We cross into the graveyard and he stops me, grabbing both of my shoulders.

"That's not what I asked you. I said _are_ you alright." He's trying to catch my eye, but I refuse to look up.

The tears start flowing as my self pity washes over me. I fold my arms over my chest and begin to sob, trying desperately to stop myself. It's no use. Brynjolf runs his hands up and down my arms, waiting for me to respond.

"No," I whisper.

He squeezes once and attempts to comfort me. "What's on your mind, eh?"

I shake my head. "I'd rather not say," I squeak, wiping my nose.

He furrows his brow and puts his finger under my chin, forcing me to look at him.

"Say it anyway," he murmurs.

I look into his eyes and mine well with fresh tears. His concern for me is overwhelming. To the point where it's becomming hard to breathe. His grip on me is firm and I feel my chest heave again, not only with a sob but with something else. Some kind of feeling towards him. Care, compassion. An overwhelming urge to wrap my arms around him and hug him.

I open my mouth to speak. "I can't stop thinking about that night."

He tilts his head to one side, running both his hands up and down my arms again. "Which one, lass?"

I look away from him. "Bersi's."

He nods. "Ah, yes. I know. I've seen it on your face."

I laugh humorlessly. Apparently, I'm pretty easy to read.

"What was goin' through your head when the flames started?"

I hold my breath. No, no, no. Don't go there, Melara. Don't lose yourself in that memory. Not here. Not with Brynjolf. Don't allow yourself to think of it. Don't remember. Don't feel it. No, no, no.

I shake my head. "I don't really remember. I was angry at him. He had said something that...that someone else said once. It was insulting. I lost control."

He nods once. "I...can understand that. But...I've been insulted loads of times, believe me," he teases. "But I've never attacked someone for it."

I look at him, a bit upset by his words. "You don't have magic. Magic is...unstable. For me, it is anyway. I've never had any formal training. But...it's fueled by emotion. By what I'm feeling. I draw power from the elements around me but...it's strengthened by what I feel."

He nods like he understands, but I can see in his eyes that he doesn't. He's trying to, at least. That's something. I begin to make my way towards the marked grave. I don't want to talk about it anymore.

"Mel?" he says, stopping me again.

I turn to him, his face illuminated by the torches inside the stone overhang. His features are accentuated and I catch my breath. Gods, he's beautiful.

He approaches me slowly, calculatingly. Only a few inches away. I breathe in shallow gasps. He reaches up and tucks a lock of hair away from my face. He smoothes his fingers over my cheek and places his hands on my shoulders again.

"If there's anything I can do for you...you tell me, alright?" He sounds so sure of himself. "Anything goin' on in your head that you...that you can't control. Or emotions that are too much for you. You come to me. Alright? I'll do whatever I can."

I swallow. A fresh well of tears pours from my eyes at his words. Nobody has spoken so sweetly to me before. Not even my parents, when they learned of my magic. Nobody. His words hit me deeply and I engrave them into my memory. The feeling of this moment, the way his fingertips felt on my face, the feeling of his fingers in my hair. His smell. The shape of his lips while he speaks. The beautiful glow in his green eyes. The dirt on his skin.

I nod. "I'll remember that, Brynjolf. Thank you."

_**As Melara and Brynjolf's relationship blossoms, trouble is brewing the guild. Maven Black-Briar isn't happy about what happened with Goldenglow. Mercer seems stressed about something, moreso than usual. The Dragonborn has taken a disturbing interest in Melara, but is rising quickly within the ranks of the guild. What's going on, and who's behind it?**_

**Thank you guys so much for reading! It means alot to know that people are enjoying what I write. Reviews are welcome, as always. Thank you! 3**


	8. Chapter 8

Damnit, I cannot get Brynjolf out of my head.

Ever since that night, outside the grave, he's been on my mind. I find myself daydreaming of his red hair, falling loosely around his face. The stubble on his cheeks and jaw, and how the laugh lines form outside of his lips when he smiles. The crows feet at the corners of his eyes that just make him look all the more attractive. His musky, borderline-dirty smell that makes my skin crawl. I guess I should admit that it's gone far beyond a simple crush.

Once we delivered the mead, Mercer told me that they would have no more need of me that night, so I returned to my room to try and rest. I slept suprisingly well, as my thoughts were occupied with something other than those retched memories. He made it easier to sleep. Or rather...my memories of him did.

I have to shake my head to get myself to focus. This enchanting needs done badly, from what I've heard around the guild. Hentar specifically told me to get his done first. Not suprising, given his pompous and cocky attitude. He handed me a pile of armor as well as a few trinkets and a dagger. The armor was simple enough - folding magic into larger objects is easier than the smaller ones. But these trinkets are proving more difficult.

It takes almost two hours, but I finish Hentar's supplies. Only twenty minutes more to finish the rest of the guilds'. I drop their piles beside their beds, then venture deeper into the hideout, to Hentar's room. He gets a seperate sleeping area, since he is the Dragonborn. Mercer allowed it. I roll my eyes at the thought. It only added to his big-headedness. I push open the door to his room, and jump when I see him seated on the bed, reading a book.

"Well well," he starts, shutting the book and standing. "Good afternoon, my little Breton."

My skin crawls. I keep my eyes towards the floor and nod in greeting to him, making my way over to his dresser. I begin to load the armor and trinkets into various drawers. I can hear him drawing closer to me, feel his presence standing behind me. I tense.

"My, you do look lovely this afternoon," he drawls, taking a lock of my hair between his finger and thumb, twirrling it. "The frazzled look suits you, you know."

I squeeze my eyes shut. Gods damn it all, is there anything about me he _isn't_ interested in? I haven't bathed in almost two week, partly in the hopes that it will put him off. I was planning on bathing this evening. I continue to pack the supplies in, almost done. Almost done. Almost out of here, and away from him.

I hear him inhale, and feel a tug on my hair. He's smelling me. My skin prickles at the unpleasent sensation. He smells like dirt and sweat, like he himself hasn't bathed in perhaps a month or more. It's almost too much for me to take and I have to hold my breath to keep from gagging. I can almost feel him smile.

"Look at me, sweet heart. Am I so unpleasent to be around?"

Yes. Yes, you are. But I am obligated to do as he asks. I turn around slowly, measuredly and making sure that I do not touch him at all. I look up at him through my hair, desperate to stay as far away from him as possible.

He reaches up and sniffs my hair again, making me watch. The unsettling feeling in my gut intensifies, and I feel like I might throw up.

"You smell quite interesting, little Breton," he comments. "When was the last time you washed?"

I swallow. "About two weeks, sir," I whisper.

He nods once. "So...perhaps you'll be needing a bath tonight?" He smirks, showing his crooked and yellowed teeth. I cannot imagine what Sapphire sees in this man. "Perhaps I can help you with that."

My stomach churns at the idea. Of him seeing me naked. Of him bathing me. It's disgusting and vile, the thought of his hands anywhere near my bare skin. I take a step away from him, though he didn't ask me to. I fear if I don't, that I might hit him or...or do something else. Something that will get me thrown out.

He laughs, like he knows he's making me sick. "You think about it, honey. Get back to me when you've made up your mind." He sits back on the bed, lounging as he picks up his book again. I quickly leave the room, shutting the door behind me.

My heart is pounding in my chest. And not in the good way. Not in the way that Brynjolf made it rush. But...with anxiety and fear. Like he's got plans for me. Plans for what he...wants to _do_ to me. I shudder and try to shake the thoughts away.

Mercer didn't give me anything to do, for the rest of the day. In fact...as I look around, the guild is empty. I don't see a soul here, other than Hentar in the other room. And, after a few more minutes, he leaves as well. Everyone must be on a job. The feeling of being alone here is...rather inviting. I could do whatever I wanted, as long as I was careful not to get caught. I smirk. This could be quite fun.

This barstool is comfier than it looks. Hard wood, but it cushions my backside nicely. I empty another bottle of Black-Briar down my throat and lick my lips. Usually, I'm not a big fan of mead, but this stuff...this is good. I put the bottle down next to the other three and lean back on the bar. I was suprised that even Vekel was gone. Maybe he went into town to restock. Or maybe he just had other things to do. Either way, I know where he keeps his sweet rolls. I grin to myself and steal a few, eating them quickly just in case someone were to walk in. They are sticky and sweet and delicious. I had almost forgotten what they tasted like.

In three months and two weeks, all I've eaten is bread and horker loaf. There was one occasion where Brynjolf snuck me a slice of pie. I smirk at the memory. He came into my room, looking like a real thief, sneaking away from a steal. I quirked my eyebrow at him, wondering what he was doing.

He snuck up beside my bed, handing me a wrapped plate. "Here, lass. You take that and enjoy it, alright?" He winked.

I nodded at him, opening it and smelling the warm scent of apple pie.

Before I could thank him or even look at him again, he was gone. I ate the pie quickly, hoping nobody would catch me. Looking back now, I wish I had savored it. Brynjolf had taken the risk of smuggling it in for me, and I wolfed it down. I frown then, shaking my head. I think I should take a bath. Nobody is here, after all.

I stand a bit too quickly, and have to grasp at the bar to keep myself steady. I laugh at myself. I am drunk. There is no mistake about it. I sidle along the wall to my room, finding a towel, my soaps, and a fresh robe to change into once I'm finished. Making my way back into the Flaggon, I sneak down to the pool of water in the center, and quickly undress. Gods forbid someone should see me naked. Espeically _him._

The water is warmer than I thought it would be. I welcome the feeling of the water sliding over my skin, already washing away the dirt and sweat that was caked on me. It's a lovely feeling, and I sigh with relief. I make my way under the stone bridge at the center of the pool, masking myself in the shadows beneath. Just in case someone would walk in, I would want to be concealed. Washing my hair takes some effort, as the space under here is limited. But, as I finish and dunk myself beneath the water to rinse, I grin and giggle with delight. The feeling of being clean was sorely missed. Then, a chuckle bursts into the silence around me. I don't recognize it, but a chill creeps over my skin. Who would be in here? And who could see me, anyway?

"Having fun, sweet thing?"

I freeze, stilling myself in the water. Oh Gods...oh Gods, no.

"You are quite the beauty, aren't you? I knew you would be."

I whimper once, tears welling in my eyes. Damn it! It's him.

"Why don't you come out here where I can see you a little clearer?"

I bite my lip. I can't. I _won't. _I won't be reduced to some man's pleasure picture. I am not that far gone. I remain where I am, tears silently rolling down my cheeks.

"Come on, little Breton. Show me what you're hiding under there, hmm?"

I shake my head in response, even though he cannot see me. I hold my hand over my mouth to stifle my sobs. How could I be so stupid? Why did I think that I could do this, be this frivolous without being caught? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I hear him at the end of the pool, and mash myself against the wall, keeping away from his eyes.

"I will have my way with you, Melara. And you won't be _able_ to say no," he spits. His words are not dripping with honey. They are fierce. Demanding. Frightening and filled with dark intentions. My insides flip flop and a fresh well of tears prickles behind my eyes. Memories of a haunted past flood into my mind as I hear his footsteps leave the Flaggon. I have to hold my sides to stop myself from shaking. The water is still warm, but I have gone cold. My skin prickles as I cry, unable to stop myself. I squeeze my eyes shut, losing myself to these evil thoughts. I can't stop them from pouring through my brain.

When I finally gain control of myself again, the Flaggon is dark. The water is freezing. My skin is pruned and my eyes are bloodshot.

I can't stay here.

_**What will Melara's choice be, with the Dragonborn's threat breathing down her neck? Will she stay, and keep living the life she's living both under Hentar's hungry gaze, and Brynjolf's gentle one? And what ever happened to that business with Gulum-Ey and Mercer? Things seem to have taken a turn for the worse for Melara. More to come!**_

**__(A bit of a darker chapter, I am aware. It was not what I planned originally, but if I wrote it, I feel like it should stay the way it is. Sorry if it upsets anyone! On an happier note, thank you all so much for reading! Breaking 700 views is so huge for me! Reviews and likes are always welcomed!)**


	9. Chapter 9

I managed to make it out of the Flaggon with nobody noticing, which was not easy, being as I was naked. Vekel and Dirge were the only two there, and they seemed preoccupied, so I slipped away. My body is still shaking, and not from the cold of the water.

_You won't be able to say no..._

Hentar's words are ringing in my ears, even now, hours after he left. His threat. His seriousness. His controlling, agressive, frightening tone. I shudder with every step. I make it to my room though, and dress in a thick robe, in an attempt to warm up. It's late, and I know for a fact that nobody is around. They're all either out on a job, or in bed sleeping. Except one. I know of one thief who would be awake now, enjoying the solace of the night. Finding refuge in the silence that comes after the sun goes down.

_Brynjolf._

My hand is shaking as I approach his door. His room is set apart from the others, as is Mercer's and the Dragonborn's. A show of authority, I suppose. I wipe my hands on my robe. They're sweaty. Gods, is it hot in here? Maybe I should just go. I can deal with this. I don't need his help. He's got more important things to deal with and-

No.

I have to stop myself from walking away. If I were to try and deal with it, someone would end up getting killed. I don't want that. Not again. I raise a shakey hand and knock once, twice, three times on the wooden door and stand, waiting for an answer. Thirty seconds pass. A minute. A minute thirty. Perhaps I was wrong, and he is out on a job. Or sleeping. Gods, if I woke him, I'd feel terrible. I turn, and begin to walk away.

A few steps away, I hear the door open, and see the glow of torchlight illuminate the hallway.

"Mel?"

A smile spreads across my lips as he speaks my name, a bit of concern in his tone.

"Everythin' alright?"

I hug my arms around my sides and turn, keeping my eyes to the floor. I look up at him sheepishly through my hair, but immediately look away.

Holy sweet sabre cat...he has no shirt on. I swallow, keeping my eyes away from him. I feel warmth in my cheeks and I know that I'm blushing. Damnit, Mel, relax. It's only Bryn. Only beautiful, compassionate, gorgeous Bryn, with a set of chisled abs and a beautiful dusting of hair over his torso. I squeeze my eyes shut.

He takes a step out of the room, one hand holding his robe closed over his torso. The other, he places on my shoulder. I flinch at his touch. He holds on, though, his grip firm and sure.

"Mel, what is it? Is everythin' okay?"

I nod once, then stop. I think for a moment, then shake my head slowly back and forth. I don't know what to think. Hentar...Hentar's warning. His threat. That's why I'm here. That's the only reason. I manage to swallow again and look up at him, avoiding his chest as much as I can. Gods, he's beautiful.

"I-it's the Dragonborn, Bryn..." I stutter.

He lifts an eyebrow. "What about him?"

I look away. His words come back to me.

_Come on, little Breton. Show me what you're hiding under there. _

I squeeze my sides tighter.

_You'll be needing a bath tonight? Perhaps I can help with that. _

I feel the sting of tears behind my eyes as the fear of his words sets back in to my stomach. I keep them shut. I don't want Brynjolf to see me cry. I don't want to look weak in front of him. I hate that I look weak to the guild. At least I can be strong for him. I turn my face from him and swallow a third time, trying to keep myself under control.

Brynjolf stares at me, trying to figure out what's going on. He lifts his hand, pressing his fingers under my chin and forcing my face up, and I meet his eyes. He's searching mine, his green irises flicking from one of my eyes to the other. He frowns then, seeing that I am on the verge of tears.

"Come in, lass," he mutters, pulling me into his room.

He shuts the door behind us and I stand still in the center of the room, frozen in the memory of Hentar's dark threat. I cannot help but come unravled as the fear of what he'll do, and the pain of what's already been done to me set in. I keep my face low, sniffing once. Damnit. A tear leaks out onto my face.

Brynjolf approaches me, placing his hand on my shoulders and guiding me to a chair beside the bed. He sits me down in it, pouring me a glass of Alto Wine. I take it, but don't drink. My eyes are drawn to the fireplace, and crackling flames within. Their warmth brings me a bit of comfort. Bryn sits on the bed, taking a swig of his Black-Briar. He isn't holding his robe shut anymore, but I don't notice. I can hardly think straight, let alone notice him.

"Mel, talk to me. What's Hentar done that's got you so riled up?"

I sniff, taking in a deep breath. How do I tell him this? How do I even start? With what happened in Ivarstead? Or the events that led up to it? With what Hentar told me in the Flaggon? I close my mouth, unsure of what to say. Brynjolf places a hand on my knee, encouraging me, though he doesn't understand. At least he's trying to.

"My father was abusive," I blurt. And before I can stop myself, more words and sentences begin to pour out of me. I cannot hold them back. "My adoptive father, I mean. I don't know who my real parents are. I was told they were killed." He flexes his grip on my knee, then relaxes. "I was adopted by a Nord couple, living in Ivarstead. Darak and Melinda were their names. They took me in when I was still a babe, and raised me as their own daughter."

I manage to look over at him, and he nods. He looks a bit confused at why I would start my story here, and I myself don't even know why. But as the words continue to tumble away from my lips, I get lost in my own story.

"When I was young, no eleven or twelve winters old, I started to show signs of magic. I caused a candle to burn out in half the time is was supposed to, my mother said. She knew then that I would be different. That I would be 'special,' she said." I laugh once. "Special." I shake my head and wipe my nose on my sleeve, my eyes falling to the fire again. "She told my father, and that's when it began. He...he had a deep hatred for mages, and magic alike. He never told me why, but he said it had something to do with his ancestors being involved in what happened with the Mages College of Winterhold." I shrug, not knowing the rest of the story.

"He began to beat me when I would anger him, or when I would not do as I was told. Which...is normal, in most cases. When a child misbehaves, it's right to teach him. But..." I sniff again and Brynjolf scoots to the edge of the bed, getting closer to me. I can smell him, and it calms me. "But my father was more aggressive than most. Most parents swat their children on the behind to teach them a lesson. My father would beat me with a belt, on my bare skin. He would strip me naked and hit me, until I would be swollen and purple." I flinch once, recalling a particularly nasty evening when my father had beat me. I squeeze my eyes shut and Brynjolf moves his hand back and forth on my thigh, consoling me. When I open my eyes, a fresh well of tears pours from them. And yet, I continue.

"My mother knew about the abuse, as I got older. And she began to resent my father for it. She would scold him or yell at him on evenings when he would beat me, saying that he was too harsh with his punishments. They had screaming matches on more than one occasion, I recall." I take a sip of my wine, allowing the warm bubbles to soothe my insides. "That was around the time that father started drinking, as well. I was probably...thirteen or fourteen, now." Brynjolf nods, his eyes on me as my story takes him in.

"There was a night when he came home, after my mother and I had both gone to sleep for the evening. The house was dark a-and I was in bed," I stutter, a sob escaping my lips as that night seems to form in front of my eyes. "He came into my room, stumbling across the floor. He woke me, and I asked him what was wrong. He...he got into the bed beside me and started to...to touch me. To move his hands on me and feel me." I squeeze my eyes shut, shivering. Brynjolf moves even closer, running his hand up and down my arm now. I can tell he doesn't know what to say. He looks at me sadly, regarding me with pity as I continue.

"I know not if he thought I was my mother, or if he was simply too drunk to realize what he was doing but...but he...he..." I choke on a sob, pressing my fingers to my lips. "He took my innocence from me. My virginity. He forced himself on me, inside me a-and covered my mouth when I tried to scream. He whispered that everything would be okay. Promised me that I was okay, that I was going to like it as I cried. He hurt me and t-told me I would like it." I look at Brynjolf, my eyes pooling over with tears. "Is there a word for that?"

He tilts his head to one side, pressing his lips into a hard line. I see a thousand emotions on his face. Anger. Sadness. Pity. Compassion. Thirst for vengeance. A desire to comfort. He closes his eyes and nods once. "Aye lass. It's rape. He raped you."

I nod once, finding the term appropriate. It sounds despicable, just like my father was. "Yes...that sounds right. He raped me. And when he was done and I was bleeding into my sheets, he got up and left me there. I remember thinking I was dying, the pain was so deep. I was so frightened, I didn't sleep the rest of the night. I could hardly breathe." I sniff once, finding it easier to speak now.

"The next morning, when I came out into the kitchen in my bloodied night clothes, my mother knew what he had done. She was so angry. She started screaming at him, hitting him in the chest and spitting in his face. 'You abuse her!' she said. 'You hit her and beat her and you _took_ her last night, Darak!'" It's now that I begin to realize that I'm yelling the words that my mother yelled. But...I can't seem to stop myself.

"My father grabbed me by the wrist and pulled out a knife. 'Alright, fine. Maybe I won't beat her anymore. Maybe I'll just slice her up a little bit. Would that be better?' he asked her, and he cut my hand with his knife. When she got up and pushed him on the chest, he hit her across the face and she fell on the ground. I-I remember looking at her, crying there on the ground, screaming and...I..." I fall silent, as the words fall away.

The silence grows as neither of us speaks for the next minute or so. Brynjolf squeezes my shoulder, looking at my face. "You what, lass? What happened then?" he whispers.

I look at him from the side, my eyes heavy and my words dark.

"I _killed_ him."

_**Melara's past is dark and driven by fear and hate. The rest of her story will be told in the next chapter. **_

**Again, I want to apologize if any of that insulted anyone or upset anyone. That's not my intention. As the words pour out though, I don't like to rephrase. I figure if that's what came out, that's what's meant to be written. So please don't hate me for writing out the rape. On a lighter note, thank you all again for the views and reviews! I can't describe how much it means that I actually have -fans- of this story! More to come soon!**


	10. Chapter 10

Brynjolf seems taken aback by the bluntness of my admission to killing my father. He sits back a bit and takes his hand away from me, resting it on his own leg. He regards me warily, his eyebrow lifted.

"You killed him?" he mutters, seeming in disbelief.

I nod once, a cold numbness coming over my body. "Yes. I did."

He swallows, I can hear. Is he afraid of me? He doesn't need to be. I would never hurt him. Not in a thousand years, a thousand lifetimes would I hurt him. I manage to bring my eyes to his and he stares into me, deeper than just my eyes. He looks into my soul, my being and I know he's reaching for the right words. He's trying to figure out what to say.

"How?" he whispers. "How did you kill him?"

I look away now, my eyes falling on the fire. As they do, the glowing embers soon crackle and rise to a warm, welcomming flame. "With fire."

He nods slowly. "You burned him to death."

I look at him. "Yea. It...wasn't really _intentional_. I was just very angry. Infuriated that he would hit my mother. I can't even say what it was that set me off but...before I knew it, he wasn't even there anymore. Just a pile of ashes on the floor, and the smell of burning flesh in the air. I had his blood on my hands, I remember. It surprised me," I mutter.

He nods once, laughing humorlessly. "I can imagine." He rubs the stubble on his face, his eyes searching me again.

"My mother was terrified of me after that. I tried to explain to her that it was an accident but...when I reached for her, she swatted me away. She cried and cried, wailed so loud that I was sure the guards would come. So I left. And I never looked back."

He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "And that's when you came to Riften."

I nod. "Yes. And I found you. And the guild. And this...job." My tone is less than admiring.

He chuckles. "If that's what you want to call it, lass." His eyes glow brilliantly in the light of the fire, and I find myself caught in them as he continues to speak. "Thank you for tellin' me, Mel. I know that couldn't have been easy." He pats me on the shoulder once, then runs his finger casually across my cheekbone. Then he sits back. "But...that doesn't really tell me what Hentar did to upset you so much."

I feel my body still, and a chill creeps over my skin. I feel the goosebumps prickle over my arms and legs, and fire dies down again as I remember the Dragonborn's dark promises and frightening tone. My mouth dries. I don't want to talk anymore.

Brynjolf leans closer, his face only a few inches away from mine. He tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear so he can see my face better and grasps my chin, pulling my face so I have to look at him. I bite at my lip, nervous to speak.

"You can tell me, lass. It's alright."

I swallows. "He threatened me. Told me he was going to 'have his way with me' and that I wasn't allowed to say no." I grip at my sides, shaking slightly.

Brynjolf grunts. "When was this?"

"Earlier this evening."

He nods, crossing his arms over his chest and sitting taller. I can almost feel his protective instincts kicking in.

"He's right though, isn't he?" I blurt, sitting a bit taller myself. My tone is frantic, but I can't help it. The thought has been on my mind since Hentar spoke the words. "Mercer told me: I have to do what the guild says, when they say it. And if Hentar wants to..._take_ me, I have to let him. It's that or I lose my position here."

Brynjolf shakes his head. "Bullshit, Melara. Nobody is gonna rape you. Not while I'm here."

I blink. Wow. He sounds pissed off.

"You listen to me, now," he rasps, grasping my shoulders. "You will come to me if he approaches you again. You'll tell me exactly when it happens, and I will take care of it. Do you understand me?"

I swallow, frozen in his gaze.

"Do you understand me, Mel?" he asks again, and bit more forcefully.

I nod immediately. "Yes, sir-I mean Brynjolf."

He nods in return, his eyes locked with mine. His hands remain on my shoulders, his strong grip holding me in place. He's...so close. I can smell the sweat on his skin, the Black-Briar on his breath. He doesn't move, just stares at me intensely. The heat in the room rises. My skin warms unexpectedly. I allow my gaze to travel down his body, to where his chest is exposed. A speckling of hair covers his chest, and a set of chisled abs sits beneath it. He's so handsome.

Before I can even stop myself, I reach my hand forward, towards him. He makes no move to stop me. My fingers smooth across his skin, tangling in his chest hair. His skin is hot, but smooth. I look at his face, and his eyes haven't left mine. They smolder slightly, but I can't tell if it's because of the lighting in the room or if it's because I'm touching him. Gods...I'm touching him!

I recoil my hand from him and get up, my face burning. I can't believe I just...I can't believe he just _let _me...

I back away from him, thoroughly embarassed by my behavior, by the response my body is having to him. I know he can tell. It's written all over his face. He smirks, standing as well. He begins to walk towards me, slowly, calculatingly, watching me with every step. The closer he comes, the hotter my skin gets. I need to get out of here. But I can't seem to move.

Closer, closer still he comes until he is directly in front of me, so close that I can feel him. I close my eyes as the warmth from his body envelopes me. He isn't even touching me, and I can feel every hair on my neck stand on end. He reaches around me then, and my stomach jumps with a thought. _Holy sabre cat...He's going to kiss me!_

I brace myself for him to pull me in, every muscle in my body tense and waiting. Then, I hear the doorknob turn, and the door crack open. He...opened the door. He isn't going to kiss me. I should have known. He's not that forward. As he moves his hand away from the knob, I expect him to release me, allow me to leave. But he doesn't. He smoothes his hand down my shoulder and leans forward. His other hand tanlges in my mess of hair and lifts it to his nose. I hear him inhale and my skin prickles.

"Mel..." he whispers, smelling my hair again. His eyes drift closed and he grips my shoulder a little harder.

I look at him, tense with anticipation.

He opens his eyes as he exhales, his breath hitting my face. Gods above...

"I think you should go..." he murmurs, releasing me. He takes a step back, as if realizing what he had been doing. He looks away, and I can almost see color in his cheeks. Brynjolf, embarassed? I never thought I'd see the day.

"You should go," he repeats as he ties his robe shut in front of him. "Before I do something I shouldn't." His eyes meet mine again. I am lost in his gaze. His beautiful, green eyes...they're flooded with hunger. For me.

It takes every ounce of my strength to take a step back. The heat in the room is intoxicating, but he wants me to go. I will obey his wishes. I take another step back, unable to break my eyes away from him. Another step, then another. I'm outside the door. Then, my hand reaches out and slowly closes the door in front of me, whisking Brynjolf out of my sight.

I can't breathe. My heart is still racing, even now, in my room. Lady Dibella help me...

I lie back on my bedroll and try to process the thoughts in my head, the feelings in my body. I've never felt anything like this before. The desire I had for him...the _hunger_ for his touch...it was excrutiating. Every part of me wanted to wrap around him and claim him. To cling to him and allow him access to the deepest parts of my being. I wanted him. More than I've ever wanted anything in my life.

I close my eyes. I can't stop grinning. I feel like a child, giddy and care free. In this moment, I don't care about anything else. My heart is slowing, but the images and sensations have ingraved themselves on my memory. I will never forget the way he looked at me. The way he touched me. The way he wanted me.

**_As the revealing of Melara's past comes to light, things are heating up with Brynjolf. And now, he is aware of the Dragonborn's threat. She feels safe. But, as the Dark Brotherhood reminds us, safety is life's greatest illusion. More to come soon!_**

**Sorry about how long it took me to post. Life's been hectic lately. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter. It was fun to write! Reviews are always welcomed and appreciated! And thanks always for taking the time to read. It means so much!**


	11. Chapter 11

The morning greets me sweetly, and I awaken to the sounds of voices out in the hall. The guild is up before me. This is unusual. I roll out of my bedroll and put on my dress and apron. As I push open the door, something dawns on me. I slept well last night. It's suprising to me. I haven't slept through the whole night in...Gods, what's it been? Weeks? Months? I smirk to myself. I dreamt of Brynjolf. That's why.

As I make my way out into the main room, almost the entire guild is awake and bustling. What time is it? The sun is shining through the grate in the cieling. It must be later than I thought.

"Oi, Breton! Where have you been?"

I whip around and see Sapphire, her feet up on the table, looking impatiently at me. I scurry on over to the table and keep my eyes low to the ground. I over slept.

"I asked you a question," she snaps.

"Sleeping, ma'am. I over slept."

She smirks then, and sits up straight. "What happened last night, eh?"

I look at her and quirk my eyebrow. What is she talking about?

"I saw you go in Brynjolf's room. I saw you come out looking as if you were about to bed him. So tell me, girl. What's going on with you two?"

I swallows once. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Somebody saw us. And worse, _Sapphire_ saw us. The most loud mouthed, bitch born girl in the guild saw us. She's going to tell everyone. She's going to tell Mercer! Brynjolf could get in so much trouble for this.

"Nothing, ma'am. Nothing is going on. Perhaps you were mistaken."

She shakes her head and chuckles. "Oh, no. I know romance when I see it, trust me. You were in his room last night. He bedded you, didn't he?"

My eyes widen. "No! No, he didn't! He asked me to take a look at his...at his desk leg. He said it was loose. I fixed it for him."

She laughs again. "Relax, girl. I know Brynjolf didn't bed you."

I swallow again. "What?"

"Why would he? You're not at all attractive." She smirks. "You're just a Breton. Why would he want you?"

My expression falls. My posture falls. Everything about me falls. I look towards the ground again, folding my hands in front of me and nod. "Yes ma'am. Did you need anything else?"

"A bottle of Black-Briar. Make it a cold one."

I nod once, moving away from the table and towards the storage room. We're all stocked up on Black-Briar. The storage room is past Brynjolf's room, in the very back of the hideout. As I move past his room, I stop. Someone is in there.

I press my ear to the outside of his door for a moment and listen. I hear...footsteps. Loud, irregular footsteps, not at all like Brynjolf's. Then, a grunt. Someone pushed Bryn against a wall. I hear a table move, and glass shatter. A loud shout from a woman. An assassin? Another thief, trying to steal something from him? I hear him let out a loud shout. I have to help him! I open the door and charge inside.

I stop dead in my tracks. Grelka is in here, with Brynjolf. They are both naked, and tangled in eachother's arms. He has her pinned against the wall, pushing himself against her. She is shouting, moaning, wrapping her legs around him. I catch my breath, and the both of them turn around.

"Melara!" Brynjolf shouts. He releases Grelka immediately and reaches for a robe.

I don't even stay long enough to see him put it on. I turn, slam the door, and head for the storage room. I grab a crate of Black-Briar, and run back into the main room. I give Sapphire her bottle and then head outside, up the ladder and out of the concealed entrance in the graveyard.

Gods above, how could I be so stupid? He never wanted _me. _He just wanted some warm, female body to get lost in. He never wanted me. He was going to use me! Just like my father did, just like Hentar wants to. And he looked so damn appalled when I told him about the Dragonborn's threat. What an ass!

I storm into the graveyard and across the lawn to the marketplace. I need to get out of here, away from the guild and out of Riften. If only for a while. I wrap my arms around myself and head for the gates. I didn't get permission from Mercer to leave. I don't care. It doesn't matter, at this moment. Brynjolf betrayed me.

I push through the gates and begin down the hillside, towards the lake. My emotions are rampaging, my thoughts are swirrling. I can't control myself. I can't stop myself. My hands are engulfed in flame. I'm so...so angry. I whip around and blast a nearby tree, setting it aflame.

How could he do this to me? He knew the effects he was having on me last night. Why would he be so sweet if he was only going to go after Grelka? Why would he touch me like that if he had no intention of following up? Damnit!

I blast another tree in my anger. Why did I think that I would be enough for him? Why did I think he would ever want me? Like the guild says all the time, I'm nothing. I'm just some Breton wench who murdered her father and destroyed someone's home. Why would he ever want me?

As I come upon the lake, my hands have normalized themselves. I kneel by the waters and splash my face. I am crying, I realize. Tears pour down my cheeks and fall from my face into the water. I squeeze them shut and sob freely, allowing my anguish to take me over.

Gods, I wanted him so badly. More than anything in my life. I wanted to know him. To understand why he is the way he is. Why he joined the guild. What his family was like when he was young. How he learned to fight. Now I'll never have the chance. He doesn't want me.

"Melara?" I hear, shouted behind me. It's him.

I shake my head fiercely. No, no, no. Don't you come after me now. Now that I caught you bedding some other girl, now you want me? Now you want to talk? Too late, Bryn. Too damn late.

"Mel..." I hear him behind me, just up the hill. "Mel, please. It isn't want you think."

I laugh once, keeping my face away from him. Then what the hell is it, Bryn? What am I supposed to think when I catch you with another woman, when just last night you wanted me?

"Grelka is just...I'm not..." he stutters, trying to come up with the right words.

I stand then, and whip around. The lake is frozen about 40 feet out, a result of my emotion. I clench my fists and ice spikes form out of the ice and jutt upwards. I grasp one of them and hurl it at him. He dodges swiftly, and widens his eyes at me.

"What are you do-hey!" he shouts, dodging another.

"How could you _do_ this to me?!" I shriek, throwing another.

He catches it in his hand and tosses it off to the side. "Stop it, lass! Hear me out!"

"NO!" I scream, throwing two at once. He dodges one, but steps right into the patch of another as it slams into his chest. He grunts and covers the area with his palm. It's glowing an icy blue. I grip one more spike in my hand and advance toward him.

He looks at me, determined. I hold the spike tightly in my hand, then put it to his throat. I am not thinking. I am acting. Reacting. He needs to be punished for this. He needs to hurt, like he's hurting me. He needs to know what I'm feeling. He needs to feel it too.

"Mel, please..." he pleads.

I blink back a new well of tears.

"I'm sorry."

I freeze in place then, hearing his voice crack. As I gaze into his eyes, they are on the brink of welling over as well. I furrow my brow at him

"What is this? Why are you crying?" I ask him.

He squeezes his eyes shut. "I didn't want you to find out, Mel. Grelka isn't like you."

I shake my head. He isn't making sense.

"Please, let me explain, lass. Please."

I hold for a moment, then drop the spike. I cross my arms over my chest and take a step back, ready to listen.

He releases the spot on his chest where the spike hit him and he wrings his hands together. "Mel...you're an amazin' woman."

I swallow once.

"Last night...I was so close to takin' hold of you and takin' you to bed. But I knew it wasn't right. I knew I couldn't do that to you. I don't know you well enough yet. And I want you so badly, Mel, but I want to know you, first. Does that make sense?"

I shake my head. "No, Bryn." And I'm telling the truth. He's talking a million miles a minute, making no sense at all.

He groans in frustration, running a hand through his hair. "I care about you, lass. That's what I'm gettin' at."

I blink. "Then why in the world would you sleep with another woman?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know! You just have...this effect on me and I couldn't restrain myself. It was like fire under my skin, Mel, when you touched me. And then, when you left..." he licks his lips. "...I couldn't sleep. I couldn't calm myself down. You worked me up right, lass. And Grelka...she'd told me more than once that if I ever needed anythin', she'd help me out. And last night, I needed you. But I couldn't take you, so I took her instead."

I blink my eyes a few times, trying to make sense of what he's saying. He wanted me. He cares about me. And last night, he wanted me. But instead of taking me, he took her instead. Is that supposed to make me feel better? Is that supposed to fix this?

"You could have asked me to stay, Bryn..." I hear myself whisper.

He takes a step towards me. "What?"

I look at him then, and bite my lip nervously. "I didn't want to go. You told me to go. You told me to go so you didn't do something you shouldn't. I wanted to stay."

He stands in front of me for a few moments and simply looks at me. I don't know what to feel. I don't know what to think. Should I still be upset? Should I forgive him? I don't know.

"I didn't want to use you, lass. That's what I'm gettin' at. You're worth more to me and I respect you more than to just use my passions on you. I don't respect Grelka. That's why I chose her. I'm sorry."

Now it makes sense. Sort of. Why didn't he just say that from the beginning?

He reaches up a tentative hand, and brushes his fingers across my cheek. "Can you forgive me?

I meet his eyes then, and feel my insides melt. Those eyes, that face, those lips...how can I stay angry at a man so beautiful? His regret is written all over his face. He looks ashamed and I feel myself give in to him. I wrap my arms around his waist and hold him close against me, inhaling his musky, masculine scent.

"I forgive you, Bryn."

I hear him exhale and feel him untense at my words. He wraps his arms around my torso and holds me there, crushed agaisnt his body.

"But I don't want you to do it again," I add.

He chuckles then, and I feel the vibrations in my chest. I smile, and squeeze.

"I wanna get to know you, lass. If we have to sneak out every couple of nights to meet like this, that's fine. I don't care how it happens. But I wanna get to know you. Is that alright?"

I nod once. "I'd like that."

**I'm gonna be honest...this is a weird chapter. I've been having alot of writers block so this is kind of my word vomit chapter. Reviews are still welcome! And thank you for sticking with it and reading up to this point! I promise I'll keep it up.**


	12. Chapter 12

It's been two weeks since he made me that promise. And almost every night, we've snuck out to meet. I feel like I'm breaking the rules, and every night that I am out I feel a guilty pang in my chest. But when I see him, when I speak with him, when he brusehs his fingers in my hair or...or across my face...I am flying. Nothing in the world can bring me down.

I think it's pretty clear that I am falling for him. He is in my thoughts constantly, and I cannot help but smile when I see him. I fantasize about what it would be like to make love to him, or to simply kiss him. To feel those gentle lips on mine, to know that he wanted _me_ and only me. To feel his hands on my back, his fingers in my hair...it's perfection.

As I scrub the laundry this morning, I recall a few nights ago, where he snuck me out of the hideout blindfolded. I was entirely anxious and nervous, but tingling all over and very excited. I had no idea what was in store. When we went outside, he led me around to the back of the stone overhang and released the blindfold. My eyes adjusted to see a blanket, set with dishes and glasses, a bottle of Alto Wine, venison stew, cooked leeks and fresh sweet rolls. He had set out a midnight picnic for us.

I felt like a child, grinning ear to ear as we sat and ate. He would reach over and feed me a bite every now and then, and I him. We talked casually, flirted casually and acted casually. It was comfortable. And yet...

Yet there was still a tension, a slow burning between the two of us. It was like that night in his room, when I told him of my father. When I touched him and he took in my scent, pinned me against the door and ran his hand over my arm. That deep, burning sensation still roars within me and the desire to wrap my arms around him is almost overpowering.

I can see it in his eyes as well. I catch him staring at me, looking my entire body over with a lustful gaze. Were it any other man, I might be offended. But I know with Brynjolf, I would be treated right. He cares about me, and that knowledge both entices and terrifies me.

The last of the laundry is clean, and I hang it out over the line that hangs across the main room of the hideout. Not many people are in here today, much to my delight. Lately, they have been colder to me, barely speaking to me or giving me any look whatsoever. This isn't a huge change, but it's enough to catch my attention. The Dragonborn still haunts my every step, commenting on my curves or the way my dress hugs at my hips. He even slid his hand over my side one afternoon, which I responded to my swiftly walking away, and hiding in my room. I almost set my bedroll on fire.

This time, it wasn't fear that consumed me. My fear of Hentar is turning into anger, frustration and a desire to strike back. This frustrates me even more because I know that I _can't_ strike back. If I did, he would go straight to Mercer, and I would be forced to leave. I don't want to risk that, both because I would lose my position here, and I might lose Brynjolf.

As I hang the clothes, I am startled by a loud bang from Mercer's office. I hurry in, worried that something may have happened. I stand just outside the door, but Mercer is shouting, and it's quite simple to hear the conversation.

"KARLIAH?!" he shouts, slamming his fist on the desk again.

Hentar nods, leaning casually on the door post. He looks back at me and winks once, which I promptly ignore.

"I can't _believe _that bitch is involved with all of this," he mutters, beginning to pace around the room.

"Who's Karliah, boss?"

Mercer runs a hand through his hair. "She was a member of the Guild once. Responsible for killing our former Guild Master. I've tried so many times to track her, to hunt her down and kill her for what she did but..." He stops pacing, placing both hands on his desk and hanging his head. "I've never even come close. Not until now."

The Dragonborn grinned wickedly, which made my stomach turn. "Well, what do you want to do? Hunt her down?"

Mercer scratched at the stubble on his chin, thinking for a moment. His eyes traveled outside and caught sight of me. He looked at me for a few moments, then began to smirk.

"Yes. We're going to hunt her down. All three of us," he said.

My eyes flew open. Wait, what?

"All three of us?" Hentar asked, looking back at me.

"Aye," Mercer responded. "You and I will be responsible for any combat, trap releasing, lock picking and the like. You," he said, pointing at me, "will be responsible to hear any injuries that we might encounter. You know a bit about the school of Restoration, yes?"

Only because Brynjolf snuck me in a book about it. "Yes, sir."

He grinned and began to wring out his hands. "Perfect. She's holed up in Snow Veil Sanctum, I've deduced. "Where the end began," she said." He rolls his eyes. "Quite the riddler, Karliah." He chuckles a bit.

I am worried. My heart is pounding in my chest and my palms begin to sweat. He wants me to accompany him and the Dragonborn on a perlious journey to hunt down and kill a master assassin and thief, who killed the former leader of the Guild? He must be crazy.

"S-sir?"

He looks at me, and raises an eyebrow.

"Sir I just...don't know if I am the best to accompany you on this quest. I know very little in the school of Restoration and...you'd likely be better off to get one of the priestesses in the Temple of Mara to aid you." I sounded calmer than what I was expecting.

He rolls his eyes. "I am a master, Breton. I know all the traps, I know all the tricks. I've been doing this for a long time. You won't need to worry much about healing. It's just a precaution."

He and the Dragonborn begin to discuss tactics while I mentally stabalize. What if there are draugr there? What if Mercer _doesn't_ know all the traps, and something were to happen? What if he got hurt and I wasn't skilled enough to heal him in time, and was responsible for his death? What would the Guild do? What would Brynjolf do?

Brynjolf...what is he going to think about this? Will he approve? I begin to pace back and forth, holding my hands around my stomach. I feel sick. This is a life threatening journey. Am I ready for this?

"Alright. We'll set out for Snow Veil Sanctum tonight. Be ready, Breton."

I nod toward Mercer and head towards the hidden exit. I need to get some air.

Once outside, I wander the streets for an hour or so, allowing the frigid air to clear my head. Perhaps it won't be so bad. Mercer has been doing this for a long time. And Hentar being the Dragonborn will have its uses - he can simply use the Thu'um and blast any enemies away. I probably won't need to use my magic at all. I smile to myself, heading towards the graveyard. The sky begins to dim as I get there, and I know that I should be leaving soon. Snow Veil Sanctum will take at least two hours to get to. I head into my room to retrieve my things, potions and spell books, bandages and the like. When I enter, I see a small, sheathed dagger sitting on my bed with a note attatched at the top.

I take the dagger out of the sheat and catch my breath. It is beautiful. Elven made, the intricate designs and beautiful craftsmanship shine in the glow of the torchlight in my room. I swallow once, sheathing it again and tying it around my waist. I pick up the note to see who sent it.

_Be Careful_

_-B_

**_The trek to Snow Veil Sanctum is long and perilous, but Melara will make it. Mercer has come alive at the thought of catching this Karliah, and Mel sees a fire in him that she's never seen before. And for the first time since he arrived, she isn't afraid of the Dovahkiin. What will they find in the Sanctum? Will her skills in Restoration be put to use? Stay tuned for more! _**

**Again, sorry I took so long to post. A mixture of major writer's block and busy life stuff. Thank you so, so, SO much for sticking with it, and for all the positive reviews! It's so inspiring when I know that readers are enjoying the story. 2,000 views. Wow. :)**

**As always, reviews, favorites and follows are eagerly welcomed and appreciated!**


	13. Chapter 13

The trek to the Sanctum is long, hard and cold. The sun has been down for about an hour, and I have to keep my hands ignited in flame both to keep myself warm, and to light my path. My feet crunch through the frozen snow as the wind blasts against my face. I was permitted to put on my robes again, and have my hood. The security that I felt with my hood up was overwhelmingly satisfying, plus it blocks some of the wind. I am still chilled to the bone, however.

The Sanctum comes into view, about a mile ahead of me. The moon bathes the field in a gentle glow and I see something in my path. Fields of white snow, and a...boulder? A tree? As I come closer I can see that it's moving. There's a foul sound that echoes through the air that sounds like roaring. I stop dead in my tracks, realizing what it is.

It's a frost troll.

I drop to the ground and dismiss the fire from my hands. Oh Gods above, how am I supposed to get past _that_? Trolls are fearsome enough, but the frost troll is the most ferocious and savage of their kind. I have to think fast. Could I fight it? Is there any way I could survive? I took on a pack of wolves on my way to Riften. Then again...wolves and trolls are entirely different.

Perhaps I can sneak by. I allow one of my hands to ignite again, and form a fireball. The power grows and grows, burning my skin as it forms into a massive flaming sphere. Then, I hurl the thing towards the troll, but slightly to the side. It explodes into the ground, melting the snow and burning the grass beneath. Wow. That was better than I expected.

The troll roars in anger and charges towards the flaming mass. As it heads to the left, I break out in a sprint to the right. I have to try and get by it before it loses interest in the fire. I dig my feet into the snow, will my legs to move harder and faster. The burning in my muscles screams at me to slow, but I can't. The fire is dimming. The troll is turning around. Only about fifty yards to go. I keep running, keep pushing. The troll sees me. He roars and charges towards me, closing the distance between us faster than I can get to the Sanctum. Then, an idea hits me.

I summon flame into my hands again and close my eyes for a brief moment, then blast a rune into the ground. It crackles into the snow, intricate designs and patterns that would explode upon impact. The edge of the stone crater leading into the Sanctum is just a step away. I leap inside the crater, landing hard on the ground and rolling slightly, coming to my feet and crouching, ready for the beast to come in after me. I listen a bit, waiting.

A loud, booming explosion echoes through the air and a orange glow ignites the sky a bit before dimming back down. I wait. Surely that wasn't enough to kill it? There's no way. I approach the stairs to look for the beast. As I ascend the stairs, the foulest of stenches works its way into my nose. I look over the crest of the crater and the frost troll lies dead, the fur burnt clean off. Gods above, I did it! I killed a frost troll! I cannot believe this...Brynjolf is going to be so proud!

I descend the stairs again and jump, holding my hand against my chest. The Dragonborn and Mercer are already here, standing by the door. Mercer looks annoyed, as usual, and had his arms crossed over his chest.

"What are you doing, Breton? We have work to do!" he snaps.

I nod. "Yes, sir." Internally, I'm screaming at him. I just killed a frost troll, you ignoratn bastard! What have you been doing?

Snow Veil Sanctum smells like death. It makes sense, since most of these old ruins are burial crypts, lined with caskets and the honored dead. They are often buried with treasures from their life; armor, weapons or jewelry, and sometimes even sacks of gold can be seen on their corpses. It makes it easy for looting, not that I would ever consider that. These are sacred places, no place for stealing. The stench of rotting flesh is overpowering and I have to pull my hood over my nose from the side, or I might gag. We advance down the stone stairs, weapons in hand.

"Karliah is crafty. She will have laid the best of traps so be pre-Melara, stop!"

I hold immediately, my foot in the air and ready to take a step.

"Shor's bones, Breton...You can't see that pressure plate?" Mercer barks at me.

I take a step back, and look down. Just below, where I would have stepped, is a small, circular plate with designs on it. Damn, I totally missed it! I could have killed us. I step around it and look at Mercer apologetically.

"Keep your damn eyes open." He turns and continues to march down the hall. I follow silently, my eyes on the ground below. I keep a hand on my elven dagger, just in case.

To my surprise, most of these corpses still lay dormant. The ones that weren't have been slain already, lining the walls. The work of this Karliah character, I would imagine. Deeper, deeper into the crypts we advance, avoiding traps and pressure plates, working through the puzzles that were already set to drop bridges or open doors. I am astounded at Mercer's knowledge of these traps. Hentar as well. He disgusts me as a person but his knowledge is quite vast.

I keep my hands to myself, I don't touch anything and I do not speak. Were I with Brynjolf, I would be more comfortable. I would engage in conversation. I would be a person. But with these two, I'm just a maidservant. I'm nothing to them. Just a slave. Neither of them speak a word to me the rest of the way into the crypt. I suppose they are too focused on the task at hand to care about my presence.

About an hour goes by and we continue into the Sanctum. The torches no longer line the walls and it is very dark. We near a entryway, leading to a large, open room. Stone pillars line the walls and candles burn in certain areas. The glow they give off gives the room a spooky, grim look. I am astounded at the beauty of it. The other two have slowed but I am fascinated. I take a few steps into the room and look around.

Before I can even see, hear or react to anything, an arrow pierces my shoulder. I stagger backwards and reach to pull it out but it was laced with something. It was poisoned! It was...it...was...

...

...

My eyes open slowly, my head groggy. Hentar lies beside me, also pierced with a poison arrow. His eyes are still closed and I wonder for a brief moment if he is dead. I crane my head to see where Mercer is and gasp. He is blade to blade with a woman, shrouded in black. Karliah.

They are going on about someone named Gallus. I can hardly hear what they are saying, my head is pounding so hard. Then, Karliah is gone. Mercer approaches me, a dagger in hand. He kneels beside me and I wonder if he will tend my wound. The evil smile on his lips tells me otherwise. He grasps my hair and pulls my head up. I yelp as pain sears my scalp.

"Seems you've heard to much, eh Breton?" He chuckles. "It's a shame. I enjoyed having you around to do what I wanted. Ah well. We'll just have to find another whore to do our bidding."

I feel the blade press into my robe, ripping the fabric. My eyes widen. I feel the tip of it against the flesh of my stomach. Gods, no.

"Oh, and I'll tell Brynjolf you died heroically. That you dove in front of an arrow that Karliah tried to kill me with, or something like that. You can join his dead fiancee in Sovngarde."

The blade sinks into my flesh and I try to scream, the pain is so great. I can't seem to find the strength to open my mouth. Mercer...that double crossing bastard. Brynjolf's...fiancee? I can't think. I can't speak. My vision fizzled into black and I surrender to the embrace of death.

I open my eyes and the sight of a woman fizzles into my view. Beside her, the Dragonborn with a bandage around his stomach. He is sitting up and gazing at me, concern across his face. We are outside and a fire crackles nearby. The morning light breaks over the horizon and falls upon the camp. Everything is so cloudy. Am I dead? What's going on?

"Rest, friend. You're safe. I'm going to take care of you," the woman says. Her voice is like silk and her reassurance is enough for me to sink back to my bedroll and relax. My eyes close again, and I fall into unconsciousness.

_**Mercer, a betrayer. Karliah, an advocate? As Melara lives, Mercer is nowhere to be found. He escaped, likely back to the guild. Confusion and lies are all that Melara knows now. And what about Brynjolf having a fiancee? Did Mercer kill her, just like he tried to kill Melara? So many questions need answering. And once Melara builds her strength, she will find the answers one way or another. Stay tuned for more!**_

**Thanks again for reading! Reviews, follows and favorites are always welcomed and appreciated!**


	14. Chapter 14

I awaken to the glow of torchlight. I am sweating, but freezing at the same time. I try to open my eyes, and the effort for such a small task is difficult for me. I do manage to open them, however, and look around the room. I am back in the hideout, that much is certain. But I am not in my room. A fire crackles in the corner of the room and a bottle of spiced wine sits beside the bed that I am in. I realize that I am only in my underclothes. My hair is pushed back from my face, and a cool cloth rests on my forehead. I look to my right, and Brynjolf sits beside me. He smiles.

"Rest easy, lass," he says simply.

I try to sit up, but he pushes me back down. My head is pounding and my stomach sears in pain as I attempt to sit. Bryn pulls the cloth from my forehead and re-moistens it, then places it back on my burning head.

"What happened?"

He sighs sadly, leaning foreward, his elbows on his knees. "Karliah happened, lass. And revealed Mercer as a betrayer to the guild."

I blink a few times. It's coming back to me. Getting shot in the shoulder. Being poisoned. I wonder for a brief moment about the Dragonborn. His death, though good for me, would be tragic for Skyrim. He is the only one who can defeat the World Eater. I dismiss the thought after a few moments and lick my lips. They feel dry, and I realize how parched I am. Bryn must have picked up on it; he reached behind my neck and tenderly lifts my head up, handing me the bottle of spiced wine.

It fizzles across my tongue and down my throat, the warm taste welcome to me. I hand him the bottle back and manage to scoot myself backwards, sitting up a bit now. It's only at this moment that I realize Karliah is sitting in the corner. Her lavender eyes seem to glow from the darkness, her face shrouded in shadow.

"Karliah," I whisper. I cannot hide the fear in my voice.

She advances from the darkness and I am struck by how lovely she is. Her skin, a typical Dunmer grey, is smooth and simply flawless. Her eyes are a shade that I have never seen and her voice is like smooth silk when she speaks.

"I am glad to see you recover, Melara. You needn't be afraid of me," she mutters, a gentle smile coming across her lips.

"That remains to be seen," I hear myself say as I force myself up higher, trying to assert myself a bit. It doesn't work and I wince sharply, the pain in my abdomen shooting through me. Brynjolf rests a hand on my arm.

"Relax, Mel. She's the one who saved you. She and Hentar carried you back here."

I blink. The Dragonborn brought me back?

"That's right," Karliah intejects. "That arrow I shot you with? It wasn't laced with poison. Well...not the lethal kind, anyway. It was a special potion that slowed your heart to a crawl. I knew that Mercer would betray you. He's done it before, and he'll do it again."

I press my hand to my head for a moment, and toss the cloth away. That's right. Mercer is the one who stabbed me. That shooting pain in my side is from his dagger. He stabbed me and left me for dead. Right after he told me about Brynjolf's...

My eyes shoot open and I look at him with wide eyes. He looks alarmed, but I don't speak. How can I ask him about a woman he was to marry, a woman who is dead now? Does he know that Mercer killed her? Would he even _want _to know? I bite my lip in hesitation.

Karliah advances forward and towards the door. "I've had the Priestesses of Mara make regular trips to the Flaggon to tend yours and Hentar's wounds. Hentar recovered faster than you did, given his burlier stature. He, Brynjolf and I are going after Mercer tonight."

I swallow. "Where has he gone?"

Brynjolf sits straight and clenches his jaw. "He's gone after the eyes of the Falmer."

I widen my eyes. "I've read about those. They're...flawless and ridiculously valuable. If he finds them...he'll be-"

"Set up for life, and he'll disappear," Karliah finishes. "That's not all he's done. He's emptied the guild vault, stolen everything that we have. Everything the guild has."

I lean back against the bedframe. What a bastard. A coward, killer and a bastard.

"We're going after him tonight. As soon as the sun goes down, we set out."

I nod towards Karliah and she rests her hand on Brynjolf's shoulder for a moment, then leaves the room. Brynjolf hangs his head for a moment and breathes heavily. Then, without warning, he pulls me into his arms and holds me tightly against him. My abdomen screams in pain for a moment but I embrace him in turn, hungry for his body agaisnt mine.

"I was so afraid for you, lass. I-I thought he...thought Mercer..."

I stroke the back of his head. "It's alright, Bryn. I'm alright," I whisper.

"I'm gonna kill him, Mel. I'm gonna take my dagger and plunge it right into his fuckin' chest for doin' this to you. I'm gonna...I'm..." he trails off.

I hold him tighter, my fingers digging into his shoulders. He is shaking violently in my arms, both from rage and fear, I guess. After a moment I pull back and place my hands on both sides of his face, managing a small smile.

He smoothes his hand over my cheek and gazes at me for a moment before sitting back in his chair. "I'm sorry that he took you with him. I'm sorry you were involved."

I shake my head. "It wasn't your fault, Brynjolf. You had no way of knowing what he was going to do."

He nods once, raking his fingers through his hair once. He folds his hands in his chest. "I don't care about the gold, lass. I don't care about what he's stolen. I'm goin' after him for you."

I nod once. "I understand, Bryn. Please, be safe when you go. I don't know if I could bear to lose you."

He smiles once, the right side of his lips pulling up. He nods. "I'm always careful."

I chuckle once, and then we fall silent. I ache to ask him about his fiancee. I want to know everything about her, I want him to share his pain with me. That must be an awful weight to bear. I take in a large breath and look at him, but stop myself.

"What is it, Mel?"

"Tell me about your fiancee," I blurt suddenly, then widen my eyes at my insensitivity. His eyes widen as well and he clears his throat, clearly not expecting this.

"My fiancee..." he mutters, licking his lips. "Myra."

That must have been her name. I reach out and place my hand on his knee.

"Myra was killed a few years ago. Sabre cat attack, I heard. The Priestesses wouldn't let me see her corpse. They said it was...too gruesome for me to bear." He laughs humorlessly. "They obviously don't know me too well."

I swallow nervously, looking away.

"She was a remarkable woman. In a lot of ways, you remind me of her. She was a Nord, mind you but...she was tender. Warm and loving. She cared about the little things, went out of her way to make others feel better, even if it meant hurting her in the process."

My chest heaves and a well of tears comes to my eyes. He deserves to know.

"She wasn't killed by a sabre cat, Bryn," I whisper.

He stops mid sentence and looks at me. "What?"

I shake my head, covering my mouth with my hand for a moment. "It wasn't a sabre cat. Mercer killed her."

He stills for a moment, looking at me with dead eyes. His lips press into a hard line and he breathes heavily out of his nose. I can see rage filling him up. I can see his fists ball so hard that his knuckles whiten. He stands and begins to pace back and forth.

"How the fuck do you know that?" he asks me suddenly, his voice low.

I gasp for a moment, taking in a breath of air. "Mercer told me."

He laughs once and nods. "Of course he did. Of course he killed her. That gods forsaken bastard..."

"Bryn..." I begin to stand, gripping my stomach as it burns. I stead myself against the wall and try to advance towards him. He is walking too fast for me to stop him and honestly, I'm a bit afraid to touch him. I've never seen him so angry.

"What does he have against me, hmm? I've never done anything agaisnt him. I've been loyal to the guild since I joined. So why the _fuck_ is he ruining my life!?"

I look closely and I see tears begin to pour down his cheeks. I walk towards him, stumbling a bit and I throw my arms around his neck, crushing him against me. He doesn't touch me but he is shaking violently. He gasps once and then crumbles into me, wrapping his arms around my waist and holding me excrutiatingly tight.

I do not release, although I am sure that my wound has broken open. I have to be here for him. I have to be his support. His smell surrounds me and his sobs are tearing me apart. Agonizing gasps of air fill the room as he cries openly, allowing his grief to overcome him. I can feel him clench his jaw as he tries to control himself. I pull back and place my hands against his face.

He looks into my eyes and I put as much affection as I can into my gaze. I try to show him that I am here for him. He places his hands on either side of my face and strokes my cheekbone. Then, before I know how to react, he kisses me.

His lips are soft, to my suprise. A gentle kiss that overflows with compassion and gratitude. I run my fingers into his hair. His lips tug and pull at mine, claiming me gently. He holds me firmly against him as he kisses me, pulling away after a few moments. He rests his forehead against mine for a brief moment, then looks into my eyes.

"I'll be back for you, lass. I won't let anyone hurt you again. I promise."

I nod once, though my eyes are closed. He presses his lips against my hair, then releases me and exits the room, leaving me there alone.

My heart pounds violently in my chest and I advance back towards the bed, allowing myself to relax into the fabric of the sheets. A single tear leaks out of my eye as I pray to the gods to guide him back to me safely.

_**As Karliah, Hentar and Brynjolf make their way to Mercer, a new passion has arisen between Melara and Brynjolf. Their kiss has burned into her memory. The way he held her, the softness of his lips on hers. The way he breathed against her. She wants him terribly, but Mercer's betrayal must be dealt with first. Stay tuned for more!**_

**I was sick when I wrote this so if there's anything wrong with it, please don't hesitate to tell me. And again, thank you all so much for reading! I hope you're enjoying it so far. Reviews, favorites and follows are always welcomed and deeply appreciated. Love you guys! 3**


	15. Chapter 15

I am pacing. And cleaning. And pacing some more. And that enchantment needs finished. And I need to replace the stock of Black-Briar. And I'm pacing some more. And where in the _gods_ name is Brynjolf?!

It's been nearly four days. Four days since he left that room and went after Mercer. My stomach has been in knots constantly since then. I cannot stop thinking about it. Is he alright? Is he safe? Did they catch Mercer? Did he get hurt? Will I be able to heal him if he does? Can we really trust Karliah, or did she turn on them? I am worried. No, beyond worried. I am panicking. It's taking every ounce of my control to keep from setting the damn carpets on fire.

On the up side, the hideout has never been this clean. My distressed minset has triggered a cleaning spree. The cabinets have been scrubbed, the drawers cleaned out, the bed linens washed, the laundry completed, the food re-stocked. The enchantments have been caught up. All I need to do is run in to town to re-stock the Black-Briar. Gods above, we drink a lot of mead.

We. Huh.

I just thought of the guild as 'we.' This is odd, because I am in no way a part of the guild. Nobody pays attention to me. The only one who calls me by my name is Brynjolf and occasionally the Dragonborn and Mercer. That's it. Nobody asks me if I'm okay. Nobody cares if I'm okay. So why did I think of myself as part of them?

I climb the ladder towards the graveyard and the answer is blatently obvious. Brynjolf makes me comfortable. He brings me what I need and treats me like a person. Perhaps...he's even fallen for me. Or falling, at least. The way he kissed me the other night...

I stop mid stride as the sensation comes back to me. His anger, and the absolute agony of his cries as I told him about Myra. I'd never seen so much raw emotion on anyone's face. His kiss was desperate. Compassionate and soft, not at all what I was expecting. He's not the type to take things slow and sweet. At least...I didn't think he was. Perhaps I was wrong about that too.

As I near the marketplace square, I am smiling. Thinking about Brynjolf helps me feel better. About everything, really. He makes me feel like a more beautiful person. Like I am normal, despite my magic which actually has been coming more under control. I wonder if that's his doing as well? I wonder if-

My thoughts cease and I whip around. Screaming from the townsfolk. The guards are shouting to one another, readying their bows. Everyone looks terrified. A shriek, a roar, a shout. Then, I see it.

A dragon lands on the Bee and Barb and lets out a mighty cry, allowing its wingspan to stretch out. Oh sweet sabre cat...it's a fucking _dragon!_

I run. I run and hide. What the hell else am I supposed to do? This is no job for me. Where is Hentar when we need him? A blast of fire comes forth from the dragon and sets a building on fire. Then it takes off and begins to circle Riften. How the hell are we supposed to defeat that? There is no way that a handful of guards are going to be able to take down a dragon. No way in all the world.

And yet...what if I helped? My magic is strong. I haven't practiced much conjuration but...perhaps I could try it? Summon an atronoch to assist in the attack and the defense of Riften? I can't believe I'm even considering this. I should be bolting. Running as far as I can get away from that thing. But I'm not. I am advancing from my hiding spot, allowing my hands to shroud in a dark, purple hue. I summon a flame atronoch from beyond the veil, binding its soul here for as long as the spell will hold. It shrieks to life, looking at me with obediant and defiant eyes. It is hungry for battle. Good.

I point towards the dragon and my atronoch begins to attack. The dragon lands again and the guards fire arrow after arrow in an attempt to bring the thing down. I shoot fire bolts towards the thing as well but it's doing very little. Then, a thought hits me. I dive behind a building as another burst of fire errupts from the dragon. Fire.

It's a fire dragon. So fire is going to do very little to bring it down. I have to use ice. I need water. I need water now. I look around, and spot a small fountain in the center of the marketplace. If only I can get there. If I move, that dragon is going to spot me and attack me. But...I have to try.

I break out in a sprint towards the fountain and literally fall onto it. The dragon did spot me and it stares me down, then shoots a fire ball at me. I dive out of the way. My face hits the pavement hard and I know I have broken skin. My abdomen burns despite being mostly healed by the Priestesses of Mara. But I cannot stop. I have to try.

I feel my fists ball tightly and the water freezes over. I focus on the dragon. My hate towards it. My anger. I allow it to fuel my magic and course through me. The water freezes solid and begins to spike up. I grasp one of the ice spikes as the dragon spits fire at me again. I duck out of the way and hurl the ice spike as hard as I can at the beast.

It shoots forth from my hand with a force I wasn't expecting. It hits the dragon in the face and it bellows in pain. That's it. Ice does it. The guards are still firing and my atronoch does its worst. I grab ice spike after ice spike and launch them towards the beast. It looks like we might be doing this. Gods above, we're killing a dragon!

The onslaught continues for a few moments, but then the guards stop firing. I look over with an exasperated and confused expression. They are out of arrows. My atronoch disappears as the spell binding it here wears off. I look towards the fountain and I only have two ice spikes left. It's not going to be enough. Even still, I grasp them in my hands and throw them with all the force I can muster. They hit the dragon hard and it roars in pain, but does not fall. No. No, no, no. It's not enough. It's not enough!

The dragon leans backward as it prepares to kill us all. I am frozen in place. The world seems to slow and I sink to my knees. We're going to die. The dragon is going to kill us. Another count on the millions that the dragons have slaughtered in the past weeks. I am never going to see Brynjolf again. I am never going to hold him or kiss him again. Never going to be able to tell him that I...that I am in love with him. My admission to loving him is enough to make me smile, but tears fall from my eyes as I accept my death.

The words of the dragon's Thu'um echo clear as it starts to breathe fire...

_"Fo...Krah Diin!"_

I close my eyes and wait for the heat, wait for the burning and the death. And I wait. And I wait more. I open my eyes and gasp sharply; the dragon is hanging lifeless on the Bee and Barb, a gentle frozen glow encasing its body. I didn't do that...did I?

I look around the guards are as astounded as I am. They are laughing, hugging one another and thankful for their lives. How did that happen? Who has that much power? I heard the Thu'um. I hears the words. We should be dead. I look around and my eyes fall upon the entrance to Riften.

Hentar is standing there, bloodied and wounded. He wears a confident smile even still, but I don't see that. He carries a large, pink stone under his right arm, and a lifeless body on his left shoulder. My expression falls and a new well of tears begins to pour from my eyes. A body that is not moving. With red hair, hanging down as he dangles from the Dragonborn's shoulders.

Brynjolf...

_**The Dragonborn has saved Riften. The echoes of his Thu'um ring true and slaughter the dragon that was destroying Riften. But the victory is hollow for Melara. Is Brynjolf dead? Why is Hentar carrying him, rather than have him walk? And what of Mercer, and Karliah? The unanswered questions continue to number higher than answers. What will happen now?**_


End file.
